tKi)e  Hibrarp 

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^nibergitpofi^ortf)  Carolina 


m 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


SOUTHBOOKE; 


BY 


SUTTON  S.  SCOTT. 


Land  of  the  South — imperial  land! 

Then  here's  a  health  to  thee; 
Long  as  their  mountain  barriers  stand, 

May'st  thou  be  blest  and  free. 

A.  B.  Meek. 


COLUMBUS,  GA.: 

THOS.   GILBERT,  PRINTER   AND  BOOK-BIXDER. 

1880. 


SOUTHBOOKE: 


BY 


SUTTON  S.  SCOTT. 


Land  of  the  South — imperial  land  I 

Then  here's  a  health  to  thee; 
Long  as  their  mountain  barriers  stand, 

May'st  thou  be  blest  and  free. 

A.  B.  Meek. 


COLUMBUS,  GA.: 

THOS.   GILBERT,   PRINTER   AND   BOOK-BIXDER. 

1880. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1880, 

By  SUTTON  S.  SCOTT, 

In  tlie  Office  of  tlie  LiVrarian  of   Confess. 


TO 


THE  YOUNG  MEN  OF  THE  SOUTH, 

BY    ONE    WHO    APPRECIATES    THEIK   ENERGY   IN    BUILDING 
UP    ITS    WASTE    PEACES,  AND    THEIE     VIETUE,    IN     BEARING     UN- 
COMPLAININGLY   ITS    AEFLICTIONS,    WHILE     STRUGGLING    TO    OVERCOME 
THEM,  THESE   PAGES    ARE   RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED. 


PREFACE. 


There  is  not  a  passage  in  this  little  book,  intended  or 
expected  to  wound  the  sensibilities  of  any  honest  and  fair 
minded  reader  in  this  country,— while  it  should  be  said  the 
greater  part  of  it  is  addressed  exclusively  to  the  Southern 
heart.  Whether  or  not  it  shall  be  able  to  reach  that  heart  is 
another,  and  a  very  different  question.  Although  it  lays  no 
especial  claim  to  originality,  either  in  design  or  construction, 
it  does  attempt  that  which  is  more  important  than  mere 
originality, — to  impress  upon  its  readers  the  truth, — often, 
it  may  be  always, — trite  and  commonplace, — but  still  the 
trutli  I  If  the  reading  of  it,  as  is  so  touchingly  said  by  Irving, 
in  one  of  the  most  charming  of  his  sketches,  shall  "  rub  one 
wrinkle  from  the  brow  of  care,  or  beguile  the  heavy  heart  of 
one  moment  of  sorrow," — and  alas  1  there  are  many  sucli 
brows  and  hearts  at  the  South, — I  will  be  content. 

s.  s.  s. 

UcHEE,  Ala.,  1879. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  ROSE  OF  ALABAMA 1 

CHRISTMAS 9 

THE  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER 18 

AGRICULTURAL  DEMOCRACY 27 

THE  REBEL  DEAD , 89 

THE  SOUTHERN  PLANTER 41 

THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  STATE ir^ 

MEMORIAL  DAY r,7 

RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS 07 

THE  BACK^VOODSMAN 107 

THEODORIC  BURNSIDE Ill 

UNDER  THE  MAGNOLIA 151 


THE   ROSE   OF   ALABAMA. 


THE  ROSE  OF  ALABAMA. 

I  loved  in  boyhood's  sunny  time, 
When  life  was  like  a  minstrel's  rhyme, 
And  cloudless  as  my  native  clime. 
The  Eose  of  Alabama. 
Oh  lovely  Kuse  ! 

The  sweetest  flower  earth  knows 
Is  the  Kose  of  Alabama. 

A.  B.  Meek. 

A  perfect  woman  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort  and  command  ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
"NVith  something  of  an  angel's  light. 

Wordsworth. 

She  lives  something  over  a  half  dozen  miles  from 
the  beautiful  little  city  of  Huntsville.  The  house  is 
a  long,  rambling  brick  structure,  with  antiquated 
chimneys,  high  pointed  gables,  and  shaded  by  two 
antediluvian  elms.  It  was  built  many  years  ago,  be- 
fore Alabama  was  formed  into  a  state,  and  has  not,  of 
course,  escaped  the  defacing  fingers  of  busy  old  Time. 
Their  prints  can  be  seen  in  the  crumbling  porches, 
blackened  walls,  and  moss-covered  roof.  It  is  situated 
upon  rather  a  rugged,  but  picturesque  hill — three  sides 
of  which  slope  gradually  down  into  level  woodland — 
the  fourth  is  somewhat  precipitous,  and  overbrows  a 
piece  of  low  meadow-land,  dotted  with  clumps  of  oak 


2  THE   EOSE    OF   ALABAMA. 

trees,  and  divided  near  the  centre  by  a  streamlet  of 
clear  running  water,  fringed  with  willows  and  wild 
rose  bushes. 

In  the  wood  spreading  out  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
and  at  a  considerable  distance  from  it — probably  a  half 
mile — is  a  spring.  The  path,  leading  from  the  house 
to  this  spring,  is  full  of  wild  beauty.  At  first  it  winds 
around  the  feet  of  giant  trees,  or  enormous  piles  of 
rock  ;  next  over  ledges  so  disposed  as  to  form  in  many 
places  a  rude  kind  of  stairway  down  the  slope  of  the 
hill ;  and  still  farther  along,  it  passes  across  a  rustic 
bridge,  spanning  a  brawling  little  brook  ;  then  through 
a  sort  of  narrow  gorge  or  ravine,  to  a  quiet  shady 
dell,  which,  from  the  spring,  that  smiles  in  crystal 
purity  near  its  upper  end,  is  called  Springdell. 

It  is  just  such  a  walk  as  a  young  and  romantic 
maiden  would  select  for  an  evening's  stroll  with  her 
heart's  choice,  and  the  spring, — gushing  from  the  base 
of  a  gently  swelling  mound,  embowered  in  trees,  and 
prattling  joyoush^  as  its  waters  trip  along  over  their 
bed  of  clear  white  pebbles,  and  brown  sparkling 
sand, — a  spot  for  her  to  listen  to  the  first  silvery 
w^hisperings  of  love.  It  was  at  this  spring  that  I  first 
saw  her  whom  I  have  styled  the  Eose  of  Alabama. 
The  time  I  shall  never — never  forget.  One  of  those 
balmy  delicious  evenings  was  it,  so  common  beneath 
the  sunny  skies  of  Andalusia,  but  rarely  to  be  met 
with  in  our  rougher  and  colder  chme — such  an  evening 
as  has  power  to  call  forth  at  once  all  the  romance  of 
man's  nature,  to  tinge  with  the  magic  hues  of  poetry 


i^B^ 


THE    ROSE    OF   ALABAMA.  6 

every  object  of  his  sight,  and  fit  hiia  only  to  muse 
upon  the  manifold  pleasures  of  love  and  the  beautiful. 
There  was  a  light  breeze,  fragrant  as  the  breath  of  a 
seraph,  singing  an  anthem  in  the  tree-tops.  A  solitary 
oriole,  that  most  gorgeous  of  all  our  birds,  glanced 
like  a  tinj^  rainbow  amid  the  leaves,  as  he  sprang  from 
spray  to  spray. 

I  was  returning  home,  from  a  hunt  in  the  wood, — 
with  my  dog  and  gun, — and  upon  drawing  near  the 
spring,  was  surprised  to  discover  a  young  lady,  Avhom 
I  had  never  before  seen,  seated,  or  rather  reclining 
upon  a  green  mossy  bank,  clo.se  by  its  marge,  with  a 
book  lying  open  beside  her.  Her  position  was  the 
perfection  of  grace  and  elegance.  She  was  resting  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  with  her  dark,  hazel  eyes,  beam- 
ing with  a  light,  placid  and  holy,  fixed  upon  a  spot  in 
the  clear  blue  heavens,  which  appeared  through  a  rift 
in  the  tree-tops  above  her.  Her  raven  tresses  were 
dishevelled,  and  fell  in  superb  flakes  about  her  sym- 
metrical neck  and  shoulders,  contrasting  rarely  with 
their  more  than  alabaster  Avhiteness.     And 

"Her  angel  face, 
As  the  great  eye  of  heaven  shined  bright, 
And  made  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place." 

As  by  the  powerful  spell  of  a  magician  I  stood 
rooted  to  the  ground.  I  dared  not  move.  Her  love- 
liness and  spirit-like  appearance,  her  dress  of  spotless 
white,  the  utter  loneliness  and  matchless  beauty  of 
the  spot,  joined  with  the  soft  witchery  of  the   hour, 


4  THE    ROSE    OF    ALABAMA. 

unloosed  every  curb  upon  my  fancy,  and  I  almost 
tliouglit  lier  some  pure  creature  of  air, — hapl}^  tlie 
presiding  divinity  of  the  place, — and  was  more  tlian 
half  afraid,  that  were  I  to  awaken  her  suddenly  to  the 
knowledge  of  my  presence,  she  would,  like  the  beau- 
tiful Undine,  when  abused  by  the  Knight  Huldebrand, 
change  into  mist,  and  mingling  with  the  water  gently 
murmuring  at  her  feet,  disappear  forever.  Motionless, 
and  in  silence,  1  watched  her  long.  I  watched  her 
until  the  sun  sank  behind  a  cloud-crag  of  violet  and 
purple  resting  upon  the  western  horizon.  As  its  last 
parting  beam  slowly  faded  from  the  glade,  she  arose, 
and  noiselessly  glided  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
I  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  enabled  to  appreciate 
fully  the  words  written  by  James,  the  poet-prince, 
when  the  lovely  Lady  Jaue  Beaufort  disappeared  from 
his  admiring  eyes : 

"To  see  her  part,  and  follow  I  na  might, 
Methought  the  day  was  turned  into  night." 

When  I  next  met  her,  it  was  in  the  midst  of  a  gay 
and  happy  throng  of  persons,  all  young  like  herself. 
Her  calm  and  serious  face  was,  on  that  occasion,  dim- 
pled with  joyous  smiles;  and  her  conversation,  inces- 
sant in  its  flow,  was  brimming  with  cheerfulness,  and 
fragrant  with  the  purest  and  most  delicate  wit.  Her 
voice,  in  its  every  tone,  even  when  she  was  alluding 
to  things  the  most  ordinary  and  commonplace,  had  a 
strangely  fascinating — an  enthralling  power.  It  was 
soft 


THE    EOSE    OF   ALABAMA.  5 

"And  had  a  touch  of  gentleness^  as  'twere 
A  tender  Hower  grown  musical." 

And  then  her  laugh  !  It  was  so  different  from  any 
that  I  had  ever  heard  before.  Never  boisterous  was 
it,  although  all  its  notes  were  distinct.  Now  it  gushed 
forth,  as  clear  as  the  ring  of  a  golden  bell,  anon  as 
gentle  and  subdued  as  the  sound  of  an  aeolian  harp. 
The  intonation  of  the  poet's  singing  fairy  could  not 
have  been  more  exquisite  in  its  melody.  It  was  the 
soul  bubbling  from  the  lips  in  music. 

Is  there  indeed  in  all  nature  any  sound  more 
delightful  than  a  genuine  heart-laugh — especially 
when  it  comes  rippling  through  pearly  teeth  and  ruby 
lips  ?  No  I — certainly  none  !  And  yet  how  seldom  is 
it  that  we  hear  one, — at  least  outside  of  the  country, — ■ 
in  this  day  of  excessive  refinement — this  day  when 
fashion,  tyrannous  and  indefensible,  holds  complete 
sway  over  our  minds — when  all  our  words  and  actions 
are  made  strictly  to  conform  to  its  cold  and  unfeeling 
decrees.  Now  to  laugh, — and  to  laugh  at  all  heartily, — • 
is,  to  ears  polite,  shockingly  undignified, — a  piece  of 
unpardonable  rudeness  and  most  decided  vulgarity. 
We  are  taught,  at  present,  to  be  supremely  elegant 
in  manner  ;  we  must  be  natural  in  nothing.  To  the 
young  ladies  especially  does  this  remark  apply  in  its 
fullest  force.  Studied  attempts,  it  even  seems,  are 
being  made,  through  a  vicious  system  of  early  train- 
ing, to  uproot  woman's  simplicity,  that  heart-jewel, 
which,  a  few  years  ago,  was  acknowledged  to  be  the 
brightest  and  purest  in  her  coronet.     By  the  aid  of 


6  THE    ROSE    OF    ALABAMA. 

French  dancing  masters,  et  id  omne  genus,  many  of 
our  young  women  are  fast  becoming  the  merest  bun- 
dles of  affectations. 

Since  the  time,  last  alluded  to  above,  I  have  met 
this  Eose  of  Alabama  often ;  and  the  many  brilliant 
qualities,  of  which  she,  at  first,  appeared  possessed,  I 
have  since  discovered  are  truly  hers — besides  others, 
if  possible,  more  brilliant.  Her  mind  is  pre-eminently 
beautiful.  It  was  cast  by  nature  in  a  large  mould, 
and  has  been  most  excellently  trained.  A  sturdy  and 
healthful  growth  has  been  therein  cultivated,  although 
not  altogether  to  the  exclusion  of  those  graceful,  but 
frail  and  delicate  flowers,  which,  in  the  education  of 
our  women,  have  generally  obtained  so  disproportion- 
atel}^  large  a  share  of  their  attent'.on.  Her  reading,  for 
one  so  young,  has  been  really  immense.  With  many 
of  the  ancient  and  modern  languages  she  is  conversant- 
Several  of  the  master-pieces  of  Greek,  Latin,  Italian  and 
Spanish  literature  have  been  read  by  her  in  the  orig- 
inals. With  Euoiish  literature,  from  the  Canterbury 
Tales  of  old  Chaucer  to  the  poems  of  Henry  W.  Long- 
fellow, she  is  well  acquainted.  But  with  all  her 
learning  she  has  lost  none  of  the  original  delicacy  and 
softness  of  her  character.  She  never  makes  a  show 
of  what  she  knows.  On  the  contrary,  she  keeps  it 
too  nearly  buried  in  the  earth.  But  few  of  her  friends 
even  are  acquainted  with  the  vast  mass  of  information 
that  she  has  heaped  together  in  the  last  few  years. 
She  seems  to  be  scarcely  aware  of  it  herself.  It  may 
be  said,  in  the  language  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury, 


THE    EOSE    OF   ALABA^IA.  7 

"that  her  excellences  stand  in  her  so  silently,  as  if 
they  had  stolen  upon  her  without  her  knowledge." 
Having  passed  the  whole,  or  almost  the  whole,  of  her 
young  existence  amid  the  freshness  and  serene  beauty 
of  rural  scenes,  untouched  by  the  varied  frivolities 
and  frozen  formalities  of  city  life,  she  is  as  guileless 
and  innocent,  as  her  face  is  lovely  or  her  accomplish- 
ments great.  Hers  is  truly  a  pare  heart — pure  as 
that  of  Eve,  when  first  she  opened  her  eyes  upon  the 
myriad  beauties  of  Paradise.  Its  every  impulse  orig- 
inates in  an  earnest  desire  for  the  accomplishment  of 
good — the  promotion  of  her  own  happiness,  and  the 
happiness  of  others,  both  here  and  hereafter.  The 
severe  studies,  to  which  she  has  since  her  early  girl- 
hood, devoted  herself,  have  not,  in  her  case,  as  in  that 
of  many  others,  tinged  the  spirit  with  a  sombre  hue. 
It  is  true,  that  when  the  features  of  her  face  are 
in  repose,  they  wear  an  expression  so  serious  and 
thoughtful,  that  it  even  appears  one  of  sadness.  But 
it  is  only  an  appearance.  At  the  proper  moments  she 
can  be  as  gay  as  the  gayest ;  and  otherwise  than  con- 
tented I  never  saw  her.  Her  heart  has  known  no 
care — no  sorrow.  Its  tranquil  waters  have  never 
been  ruffled  by  a  single  storm  ;  the  gems  of  hope 
brightly  sparkling  in  their  limpid  depths  have  never 
had  their  lustre  dimmed ;  and  if  upon  their  surface 
there  have  ever  brooded  shadows,  they  were  only  the 
shadows  of  passing  May- clouds,  or  of  May -nights,  all 
softened  by  the  light  of  silver  moonbeams. 


8  THE    EOSE    OF   ALABAMA. 

"In  her  is  youth,  beauty  with  humble  port, 
Bounty,  richess,  and  womanly  feature, 
God  better  wot  than  my  pen  can  report  ; 
"Wisdom,  largess,  estate  and  cunning  sure 
In  every  point  so  doth  guide  her  measure. 
In  word,  in  deed,  in  shape,  in  countenance, 
That  nature  might  no  more  her  child  advance." 

1853. 


CHRISTMAS. 


CHRISTMAS. 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 

Festal  uay  to  Chi-istiaus  dear, — 

Give  all  plenty  of  good  cheer, — 

Koast  meats,  mince-pies,  lamb's  wool,  beer ; 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

Old  Rhyjxe. 

Let  Piers,  the  plowman,  dwell  at  home,  and  dight  the  corn.    Look  that  Hobbe, 

the  robber,  be  well  chastised.    Staud  manly  together  in  the  truth,  and  help  the 

truth,  and  the  truth  shall  help  you. 

Pasqcinade  1382. 

Anotlier  Christmas  is  here.  Time  was  when  in 
every  Christian  country  this  was  the  most  joyous 
period  of  the  whole  year.  Among  the  English  espe- 
cially was  this  the  case.  From  the  days  of  Alfred, 
the  Great,  who,  by  decree,  made  it  the  beginning  of 
the  holidays,  it  has  been  regarded,  through  a  range 
of  about  ten  centuries,  as  the  most  important  of  them 
all.  In  reading  accounts  of  the  festivities  in  England 
of  this  "gentle  and  joyeuse"  day,  when  that  country 
was  indeed  "  Merrie  England,"  which  so  frequently 
grace  the  writings  of  the  older  authors  ; — the  beauti- 
ful and  significant  church  decorations  ;  the  reverence 
of  the  congregation  during  service  ;  the  devoutness  of 
their  thanks,  and  the  heartiness  of  their  praises  to 
the  Great  Giver  of  all  good  ;  the  unrestrained  joy  and 


10  CHRISTMAS. 

gladness  that  every  where  pervaded  the  country, 
making  bright  the  lowliest  hovel,  as  well  as  the  grand- 
est hall ;  the  innocent  and  mirth-provoking  romps 
and  pastimes  upon  the  village  common,  and  along  the 
sequestered  lanes ; — one  cannot,  in  this  day  of  trouble 
and  sorrow  and  care,  help  feeling  better  and  happier, 
and  wishing  ardently  to  see  one  such  Christmas. 

George  Withers,  who  lived  more  than  tAvo  hundred 
years  ago,  in  his  Juvenilia  gives  a  bright  and  graphic 
history  of  how  Christmas  was  kept  in  his  day.  Let 
us  quote  a  few  verses.  They  are  well  worth  reading, 
and  -especially  so  just  as  this  time. 


CHEISTMAS. 

So  now  is  come  our  joyful'st  feast, 

Let  every  man  be  jolly  ; 
Each  room  with  ivy  leaves  is  drest, 

And  every  post  with  hollj'. 
Though  some  «hurls  at  our  mirth  repine, 
Eound  your  foreheads  garlands  twine, 
Drown  sorrow  in  a  cup  of  wine, 

And  let  us  all  be  merry. 

Now  all  our  neighbors'  chimneys  smoke. 
And  Christmas  blocks  are  burning  ; 

Their  ovens  they  with  baked-meat  choke, 
And  all  their  spits  are  turning. 

Without  the  door  let  sorrow  he  ; 

And  if  for  cold  it  hap  to  die, 

"We'll  bury't  in  Christmas  pie. 
And  evermore  be  merry. 


CHRISTMAS.  11 

Now  every  lad  is  wondrous  trim, 

And  no  m?  n  minds  his  labor ; 
Onr  lassies  have  provided  them 

A  bagpipe  and  a  tabor. 
Young  men  rnd  maids,  and  girls  and  boj's 
Give  life  to  cne  another's  joys  ; 
And  you  anon  shall  by  their  noise 

Perceive  that  they  are  merry 

Xow  poor  men  to  the  justices 

With  capons  make  their  errants ; 
And  if  they  hap  to  fail  of  these, 

They  pligue  thjm  with  their  warrants; 
Bat  now  they  f^ed  them  with  good  cheer, 
And  what  they  want  thej'  take  in  beer ; 
For  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year, 

And  then  they  shall  be  merry 

The  client  now  his  suit  forbears. 

The  prisoner's  heart  is  eased. 
The  debtor  drinks  away  his  cares. 

And  for  the  time  is  pleased. 
Thoiigh  others'  purses  be  more  fat, 
Why  should  we  j^ine  or  grieve  at  that  ? 
Hang  sorrow  I  cnre  will  kill  a  cat, 

And  therefore  let's  be  merry 

Then  wherefore,  in  these  merry  days, 

Should  we,  I  pray,  be  duller? 
No,  Itt  us  sing  some  roundelays, 

To  make  our  mirth  the  fuller  ; 
And,  while  we  thus  inspired  sing. 
Let  all  the  streets  with  echoes  ring 
Woods  and  hills  and  every  thing 

Bear  witness  we  are  merry. 

In  Yorkshire,  Devon,  and  some  of  the  other  coun- 
ties of  England,  much  of  the  old  style  of  celebrating 
Christmas,  as  set  forth  in  this  poem,  is    still  to  be 


12  CHRISTMAS. 

observed.  Washington  Irving  saj^s  that  he  unex- 
pectedly found  existing  in  the  first-named  district, 
even  all  those  antiquated  customs,  the  description  of 
which  forms  his  series  of  Christmas  pictures  at  Brace- 
bridoe  Hall,  and  which,  at  the  time  of  their 
appearance,  were  pronounced,  by  some,  so  old- 
fashioned  as  to  be  out  of  date. 

Perhaps  next  to  the  English  in  their  honest  and 
hearty  enjoyment  of  this  great  festival  occasion,  came 
the  people  of  the  South.  With  them  Christmas  used 
to  be  emphatically  a  great  day, — a  happy  day, — a 
day  when  trouble  was  unhesitatingly  driven  from  the 
heart,  and  had  the  door  thereof  resolutely  slammed  in 
its  face. 

Go  back  about  a  dozen  years !  It  is  the  Christmas 
of  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty.  See  that  white 
house, — one-storied, — covering  near  a  quarter  of  an 
acre  of  ground  with  its  multitude  of  rooms  upon  the 
same  floor, — numerous  chimneys  through  its  vari- 
ously-sloping roofs, — low-eaved  vei'andas  all  around, — 
large  windows  protected  by  green  blinds, — broad 
passages  intersecting  each  other  at  right  angles, — all 
the  doors  wide  open,  winter  though  it  is,  and  a  nip- 
ping frost- wind  blowing, — situated  in  a  grove  of 
splendid  old  oaks,  upon  a  gentle  and  beautifully 
rounded  eminence.  Observe,  too,  the  tasteful  and 
well-kept  flower  garden  in  front, — green  house,  sup- 
plied with  rare  and  choice  plants,  close  by, — and 
good  and  substantial  out -houses  in  the  rear, — stable 
yard,  full  of  sleek  mules  and  horses,  at  the  foot  of  the 


gHRISTMAS.  13 

hill,  ill  tlie  fence -corners  of  which,  huge  porkers,  tot- 
terina"  and  trruntino-  under  their  loads  of  fat,  are 
leisurely  rooting, — and  barns,  looking  out  of  a  clump 
of  trees  just  above,  absolutely  bursting  with  things 
eatable  for  man  and  beast,  from  the  fields.  Note,  at 
the  same  time,  the  area  under  the  gin-house  shelter, 
on  the  hill  across  the  highway,  packed  with  heavy 
bales  of  the  great  staple,  and  the  plantation  all 
around  still  white  with  its  ungathered  wealth. 

Walk  into  this  Southern  country  house  ; — you  are 
a  neighbor, — go  in!  The  sun,  in  rising,  is  just  gild- 
ing the  tree-tops  about  you,  as  your  tap  brings  to  the 
door  a  tall  and  stately  man,  with  an  honest,  genial 
face,  dark  eyes,  and  long  chestnut  hair,  well  streaked 
with  gray,  falling  upon  his  shoulders.  You  are  in- 
vited to  enter,  with  a  smile,  and  a  manner,  and  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  to  which  your  heart  responds:  "I 
am  welcome, — aye  more,  he  is  delighted  to  see  me." 
You  are  presented  to  the  wife,  a  medium -sized, 
h>rown-haired,  brown-eyed,  matronly  lady,  with  gen- 
tleness and  love  peeping  out  of  every  line  of  her 
sweet  face,  and  a  laughing,  blooming  Hebe  of  a 
daughter.  Other  neighbors  are  there.  A  huge  fire 
of  hickory  logs  is  leaping  and  roaring  up  the  wide- 
mouthed  chimney,  and  upon  a  side  table  is  spread 
out  all  sorts  of  good  things  for  the  inner  man,  with  a 
large  bowl  of  steaming  apple  toddy  occupying  the 
post  of  honor  in  the  centre.  The  very  atmosphere  of 
the  room  is  redolent  of  happiness  and  contentment. 
A  few  minutes'  stay  convinces  you  that  you  are  with 


14:  CHRISTMAS. 

a  man,  who  is  not  only  your  friend,  but  a  friend  of 
humanity, — who  not  only  enjoys  life  himself,  but  con- 
tributes all  in  his  power  to  the  enjoyment  of  others ; 
and  one  too  who  is  supremely  grateful  for  all  his 
manifold  wordly  blessings.  He  feels,  you  know,  in 
his  heart,  deeply,  strongly  and  entirely,  the  sentiment 
embraced  in  the  lines,  which  Irving  says  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge  constructed  on  a  poem  from  the  wizard  pen  of 
Old  Herrick : 

'Tis  Thou  tliat  crown'st  my  glittering  bcartli 

Viiih.  guiltless  mirth, 
And  giv'st  me  wasstile  bowls  to  di'ink, 

Spiced  to  the  brink  ; 
Lord,  'tis  Thy  plenty-dropping  hand, 

That  soiles  my  l-^nd, 
And  giv'st  me,  for  my  bushel  sowne, 

Twice  ten  for  oue. 

One  by  one,  the  negroes, — men  and  women, — come 
np  from  the  quarter, — their  faces  shining  like  pol- 
ished ebony,  and  mouths,  all  in  a  broad  grin,  showing 
the  whitest  of  grinders,  as  each  of  them  receives  from 
the  hand  of  the  master  a  glass  of  toddy,  and  a  Christ- 
mas present.  With  another  and  a  broader  grin,  and 
a  still  more  liberal  display  of  ivor}^  a  tip  of  the  hat, 
and  a  bow,  they  each  retire, — not,  however,  without 
a  kind  and  pleasant  word  from  both  mother  and 
daughter,  and  to  the  women  something  more  substan- 
tial. 

Follow  them  to  the  quarter,  which  is  healthfully 
located  not  far  from  the  mansion,  if  you  wish  to  see 


CHEIST^klAS.  15 

an  exliibition  of  tlie  purest  enjoyment.  There,  a  sort 
of  Lord  of  Misrnle,  or,  Abbot  of  Unreason,  is  the 
master  of  ceremonies.  In  one  place  jou  notice  a 
knot  of  jolly  blacks,  having  a  splendid  time  over  a 
table  of  substantials,  profusely  garnished  with  confec- 
tions, sent  down,  in  negro  parlance,  from  the  great 
house  ; — here,  a  party,  every  member  of  which  is  in 
motion  from  his  head  to  his  heels,  is  circled  about  a 
lusty  fellow  slapping  his  legs,  breast  and  sides,  with 
all  his  might  and  main,  to  the  tune  of  J  aba,  for  two 
others,  who,  face  to  face,  are  abundant  and  vigorous 
in  their  attempts  to  shuffle  one  another  down ; — 
there,  a  group  of  about  the  same  size,  eagerly  and  in- 
terestedly surround  a  boy  with  a  cracked  fiddle,  the 
hysterical  shriekings  of  which  would  craze  or  kill  a 
nervous  man  in  a  minute  ; — j^onder,  to  the  monoto- 
nous thrummings  of  an  old  gourd  banjo,  a  kind  of 
general  dance  is  going  on, — men,  women  and  children 
being  vigorously  engaged, — each  one  hopping  and 
skipping  independently, — with  a  most  reckless  disre- 
gard of  time  and  toes  ; — while,  from  scores  of  throats^ 
about  a  great  fire  in  the  dell  below,  comes  floating 
upward  the  wild,  yet  sweetly  musical,  notes  of  a 
Southern  corn-sh  Licking  song. 

Look  ! — there  goes  John  and  his  spouse.  John  is 
the  coachman,  and  the  aristocrat  of  the  plantation. 
He  is  dressed  in  a  suit  of  unexceptionable  black, — his 
kinky  hair  is  well  oiled  and  carded, — upon  a  knot  of 
which,  immediately  above  the  ear,  is  daintily  perched 
his  castor,  just  a  size  and  a  half  too  small  for  him, 


16  CHEISTMAS. 

but  which  he  woul^,  on  no  account,  have  larger, — his 
great  black  hands  are  encased  in  a  pair  of  white  cot- 
ton gloves, — the  right  deftly  resting  in  the  crook  of 
his  better-half's  elbow,  which  is  gracefully  tucked 
out  for  his  accommodation, — and  the  left  holding 
aloft  a  wide-spread  umbrella,  to  keep  off  the  frosty 
air,  perchance,  as  it  can  possibly  serve  no  other  use- 
ful purpose  on  such  a  day. 

And  finally,  as  you  wend  your  way  back  to  the 
homestead,  to  bid  adieu  to  your  hospitable  enter- 
tainers, turn  into  that  cabin  close  by  the  yard  gate, 
about  the  door  of  which  you  have  seen  their  little 
girls, — three  bright-eyed  fairies, — gambolling  the 
greater  part  of  the  morning.  They  are  within  now. 
An  old  negress,  about  seventy  years  of  age,  whose 
surroundings  are,  in  every  respect,  cleanly  and  com- 
fortable, is  sitting  by  the  fire.  She  is  nearly  loaded 
down  with  sweetmeats,  which  the  little  witches  have 
been  bringing  her  from  the  house  since  sunrise. 
With  one  hand  she  is  gently  waving  off  two  of  the 
children,  who  are  pressing  her  to  eat  more  of  the  del- 
icacies of  their  providing,  while,  with  the  other,  she 
is  lightly  playing  with  the  rich  clustering  ringlets  of 
the  youngest,  who  is  standing  at  her  knee.  An  ex- 
pression of  ineffable  fondness  sits  upon  her  withered 
features,  as  her  dim  eyes  rest  upon  their  winsome 
faces.  That  is  Aunt  Judy ; — to  use  the  language  of 
these  little  girls, — that  is  "mammie."  She  was  the 
nurse  of  the  father,  and  has  for  his  children, — her 
pets,  as  she  calls  them, — a  love  second  only  to  that  of 


CHRISTMAS.  17 

the  mother, — a  love,  which,  in  kind,  is  fully  repaid 
by  them. 

Such  is  an  imperfect  picture  of  what  Christmas 
used  to  be  at  the  South,  when  planters  were  rich,  and 
the  negroes  happy.  It  is  different  now ;  for  wealth 
has  departed  from  the  one,  and  care  taken  possession 
of  the  other.  The  old  Christmas  pastimes  upon  plan- 
tations are  no  more.  The  banjo  is  obsolete  and  the 
fiddle  laid  aside.  John,  the  coachman,  has  emigra- 
ted, or  taken  to  politics.  Aunt  Judy  too  has  gone  I 
She  died  in  1865 ;  and  with  her,  or  rather  with  that 
3"ear,  passed  forever  from  the  South  the  last  of  the 
^'mammies." 


1* 


THE  COXFEDERATE   SOLDIER. 


THE  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER* 

Hushed  is  the  roll  of  the  rebel  drum, 

The  sahres  ai'e  sheathed,  aud  the  cannon  are  dumb; 

And  Fate,  with  pitiless  hand,  has  furled 

The  flag  that  once  challenged  the  gaze  of  the  -world. 

John  R.  Thompson. 

Previous  to  the  war,  indeed  to  the  very  moment  of 
the  great  action,  which  brought  it  about,  there  was  a 
fervent  and  sincere  love  of  the  Union  among  all  classes 
of  the  American  people,  both  Is'orth  and  South.  This 
love,  however,  although  perhaps  equal  in  degree  on  the 
part  of  each  of  the  two  sections,  was  widely  dissimilar 
in  character.  With  the  North  it  was  primarily  a  love 
of  the  Union  for  itself;  with  the  South  it  was  prima- 
ril}^  a  love  of  the  Union  for  its  constitutional  guaran- 
tees. The  different  ideas,  upon  which  the  Northern 
and  Southern  Union  sentiment  was  founded,  mani- 
fested themselves  at  the  organization  of  the  govern- 
ment. The  North  wanted  the  Union,  but,  in  this 
want,  the  rights  and  interests  of  the  States  were  too 
little  regarded ;  the  South  wanted  the  Union  also,  but, 
in  it  these  rights  and  interests  were  duly  considered. 
The  one  struggled  mainly  for  the  Union;  the  other 
for  the  Union  with  those  restrictions  upon  its  powers 

*  speech  made  at  the  cemetery  in  Mobile,  April  26th,  1875 — Memorial  day. 


20  THE    COXFEDEEATE    SOLDIER. 

judged  essential  to  the  life  and  health  of  its  compo- 
nent parts.  The  result  was  a  compact,  in  which, 
"while  Southern  ideas  mainly  predominated,  these 
powers  were  not  in  every  instance  so  expressly  and 
exactly  defined  and  guarded,  as  to  preclude  the  possi- 
bility of  dispute  and  collision.  Hence,  the  determined 
maintenance,  on  the  part  of  the  South,  of  the  right  of 
a  State  to  secede,  and  the  equally  determined  denial  of 
it  on  the  part  of  the  North. 

These  two  opposing  constructions  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, in  the  matter  of  secession,  made  up  the  great 
issue  upon  wliich  the  war  was  fought.  The  millions 
of  men  and  vast  riches  at  the  command  of  the  Xorth, 
with  her  ports  open  for  the  incoming  of  eltectual 
assistance,  in  the  way  of  men,  and  all  the  munitions 
of  war,  from  the  outside  world,  and  her  surface  retic- 
ulated by  rivers  and  railroads,  for  the  easy  and  speedy 
transfer  of  her  valorous  and  ponderous  legions,  with 
their  suppHes,  from  one  point  to  another,  gave  her  the 
victory  over  the  South,  weak  in  numbers  and  avail- 
able wealth,  shut  in  by  land,  and  sea — upon  which  no 
friendly  flag  was  seen  to  wave,  and  through  which  no 
help  could  enter,  scarcely  even  a  word  of  encourage- 
ment and  sympath}^,  from  other  nations.  By  this 
victory  the  ISTorthern  construction  prevailed.  Seces- 
sion as  a  remedy  for  federal  wrongs  and  usurpations, 
in  this  countr}^,  became  a  thing  of  the  past.  Upon  it, 
by  the  sword,  was  inflicted  a  bloody  death,  and,  by  the 
same  weapon,  its  grave  was  dug.  For  it  there  is  no 
resurrection,  and  none  is  desired. 


THE    CONFEDERATE    SOLDIER.  21 

But  for  SO  struggling  and  failing,  were  the  Southern 
people  traitors?  And,  ah! — were  their  dead  soldiers 
traitors^those,  whom  we  to-day  mourn  as  the  loved 
and  the  lost  ?  The  foul  imputation  has  been  more 
than  once  cast  upon  them,  by  a  few  men  of  the 
North, — not,  be  it  said,  by  the  gallant  survivors  of 
the  host  that  met  them  so  manfully  in  arms, — and  by 
certain  ones  of  the  South, — I  dare  not  call  them  men, 
-^who  blenched  from  helm  and  halliards,  when  the 
storm  blew  hiuhest. 

The  Northern  soldiers  believed  they  were  right. 
They  were  told, — vea,  it  was  the  one  theme  of  their 
press, — it  was  thundered  from  their  rostrums, — and 
it  was  preached  from  their  pulpits, — that  the  Union 
constructed  by  the  fathers  of  the  republic, — to  which 
was  due  all  the  prosperity  of  the  country,  at  home, 
£ind  its  dignity  abroad, — a  Union,  in  the  love  and  ven- 
eration of  which  they  were  educated,  from  the  mo- 
ment they  could  lisp  the  magic  word  at  their  mothers' 
knees,  until  they  had  been  made  to  look  iipon  it,  as 
^'the  paramount  jDolitical  good,  and  the  primary  object 
of  patriotic  desire,"  was  being  rudely  menaced  by  hos- 
tile and  impious  hands, — and  they  were  stirringly 
exhorted  by  congressional  resolutions,  and  presidential 
jDroclamations,  to  gird  on  their  swords  and  strike  for 
its  preservation.  Their  dead  are  consequently  safe 
from  any  such  unhallowed  charge,  as  that  sought  to 
be  fastened  upon  our  dead. 

Traitors ! — The  slanderous  word,  it  seems,  ouaht  to 
blister  the  tongue  and  shrivel  the  lips  of  the  man,  who 


22  THE    COXFEI-'^RATE    SOLDIEE. 

"^oiild  dare  apph^  it  to  the  soldier-dead  of  the  Confed- 
erate States.  Traitors ! — The  potent  voice  of  impartial 
history  will  never  permit  so  great  a  wrong.  It  will 
never  permit  the  memories  of  the  dead  heroes  of  the 
South  to  be  so  outraged — will  never  permit  such  a 
stigma  to  cleave  to  their  names,  and  such  a  shadow  to 
rest  upon  their  graves — will  never  permit  all  their 
noble  and  unselfish  exertions,  all  their  siorious 
achievements,  all  their  unexampled  sufferings,  all  their 
unmeasured  and  immeasurable  sacrifices, — to  be  so 
dishonored.  In  their  minds  rested  no  doubt,  as  to  the 
rightfulness  of  the  cause,  for  which  they  strove; — and 
that,  they  were  correct  in  their  convictions  is,  and 
will  be,  the  decision  of  just  expounders  of  the 
Constitution,  and  the  Hallams  of  this  country,  and 
of  the  war. 

They  were  patriots!  They  were  unrevengeful^ 
dauntless,  faithful  patriots  ! — never  failing — never 
waverino- — even  under  circunir  tances,  which  mio-ht 
well  excuse  both  on  the  part  of  the  truest,  boldest 
and  purest ! 

They  were  unrevengeful  I  The  whole  Southern 
country,  like  a  mighty  volcano  in  the  moment  of 
irruption,  was  girdled  and  seamed  Avith  the  fires  of 
destruction  and  death, — fertile  plains  and  valleys  were 
bereft  of  all  brightness  and  beautv, — humble  farm- 
houses  and  princely  mansions  Avere  levelled  Avith  the 
ground, — lovely  and  thriving  tOAA'ns  and  cities  AA^ere 
heaps  of  ruins; — but  all  these  horrors  AA'ere  regarded 
by  them  as  incidents  of  iuA'ading  Avar, — not  ahA^ays 


THE   CONFEDERATE   SOLDIER.  23 

necessary,  but  frequently  unavoidable, — with  no 
thought  of  retaliation,  or,  if  such  thought  ever  arose, 
it  was  resolutely  uprooted  when  opportunities  of 
retaliation  were  presented.  Indeed,  when  south  of 
the  Potomac, 

"The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering,  swelled  the  gala," 

on  the  other  side, — when  they,  in  the  bright  meridian 
of  their  martial  glory,  became  invaders  in  their  turn, 
but  few,  or  no,  acts  of  unnecessary  violence  or  wanton 
destruction  of  private  property,  could  be  laid  to  their 
charge.  The  hearts  of  women  and  children  in  Penn- 
sylvania were  desolated  by  the  loss  in  battle  of  fathers, 
brothers,  husbands  and  sons,  but  they  did  not  have 
superadded  the  desolation  of  homes  and  firesides. 
Poesy  never  wove  a  wreath  holding  more  of  the 
bloom  and  perfume  of  truth,  than  that  made  up  of 
the  words, — "The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, — the 
loving  are  the  daring," — and  the  world  never  showed 
brows  more  Avorthy  of  it,  than  those  of  our  dead 
heroes. 

They  were  dauntless !  Let  it  be  recollected  that  they 
were  hundreds,  while  their  opponents  were  thousands ; 
they  were  poor,  while  their  opponents  were  rich; 
they  were  badly  fed,  clothed,  armed  and  equipped, 
while  their  opponents  were  supplied  with  everything 
needed  by  the  soldier ;  they  had  to  rely  upon  the  scant 
and  rapidly  decreasing  resources  of  an  invaded  and 
blockaded   country,  while  their  opponents  had  free 


24  THE    COXFEDERATE    SOLDIER. 

access  to  tlie  markets  of  the  world; — and  while  tlius 
lamentably  deficient  in  all  those  advantages,  with 
which  their  opponents  were  so  lavishly  furnished, 
they  knew  them  to  be,  by  birth,  education  and  habits, 
foemen  not  unworthy  of  their  steel.  They  spoke  the 
same  language,  worshiped  the  same  God,  were  reared 
under  the  same  institutions,  and  descended  from  the 
same  heroic  ancestors.  And  yet,  with  all  these  disas- 
ter-broodino-  facts  staring^  these  Southern  soldiers  in 
the  face,  never  were  their  hearts  known  to  despair,  in 
the  lonely  night-watch,  upon  the  toilsome  march,  in 
the  full  roar  and  glare  of  battle,  or  in  calamitous 
retreat, — never  was  their  prowess  found  wanting  on 
the  most  dif&cult  and  trying  enterprise  or,  in  the  most 
desperate  charge, — of  a  four  years  war. 

And  they  were  faithful !  The  nature  and  extent  of 
their  sulferings  no  mortal  pen  can  portray.  It  may 
possibly  convey  a  faint  idea  of  those  of  the  body, — 
in  picturing  them  shivering  before  the  icy  blasts  of 
winter, — "pierced  by  the  arrowy  rain," — marking  the 
frozen  ground  with  lacerated  and  blood-stained  feet, — 
eating  wild  berries,  and,  at  times,  grass  itself,  to  satisfy 
the  cravinp^s  of  hnno'er; — but  these  were  nothins^, — 
were  unheeded  by  them  in  the  presence  of  the  mental 
agony,  which  they,  for  months,  aye  many  of  them, 
for  years,  were  forced  to  endure.  They  knew  that 
behind  the  hostile  invasions  of  the  Southern  country, 
their  mothers,  wives,  sisters  and  little  children  were 
left  homeless,  and,  if  not  friendless,  without  friends 
capable  of  assistance, — crying  for  bread  and  receiving 


THE    COXFEDERATE    SOLDIER.  25 

none; — and  messages  not  iinfrequently  readied  them, 
from  those  dear  ones  far  away,  the  burden  of  which 
was  "Help,  help,  or  we  perish!" — and  yet  they  sternly 
brushed  away  the  tear  that  could  not  be  ke23t  back, 
half  stifled  the  sob  and  groan  which  accompanied  it, 
left  family  to  the  care  of  God,  and  manfully,  faithfully, 
stood  at  their  posts. 

And  to  conclude; — the  last  act  at  Appomattox 
showed  that  the  martial  virtues  of  our  dead  soldiers 
were,  by  no  means,  wanting  in  the  storm-worn  and 
battle-scarred  warriors,  who  survived  them  and  the 
cause.  About  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  Jeru- 
salem, then  in  the  possession  of  the  Crusaders,  was 
threatened  by  an  army  of  seven  thousand  men  under 
Saladin.  The  Templars  and  Hospitallers  assumed 
the  whole  danger  and  responsibility  of  its  defence. 
Their  band,  although  scarcely  numbering  more  than 
one  hundred  knights,  and  about  three  hundred  men- 
at-arms,  met  the  host  of  the  renowned  soldan,  at 
Kazareth,  and  boldly  charged  its  centre.  Fighting 
desperately,  they  piled  the  ground  with  a  mountain  of 
dead  Arabs,  but  overborne  by  the  multitude  of  their 
foes,  every  man  of  them  perished  except  the  Grand 
Master  of  the  Temple,  and  two  of  his  immediate  fol- 
lowers. Than  this,  no  grander  exhibition  of  heroism 
is  furnished  by  those  romantic  and  chivalrous  crusad- 
ino'  wars ;  but  as  o-rand  as  it  is,  when  all  the  circum- 
stances  attending  each  are  considered,  it  pales,  as  does 
the  moon  before  the  sun,  in  the  face  of  that  displayed 
by  the  little  remnant  of  Lee's  grand  army,  in  their 


26  THE    CONFEDERATE   SOLDIER. 

preparations  for  a  final  charge  upon  tlie  closing  field 
of  the  great  struggle.  Clothed  in  rags, — every  face 
wearing  the  sunken,  pinched  and  ghastly  look  pro- 
duced by  starvation,  overwork  and  anxiety,  but  with 
lips  compressed  and  eyes  blazing,  indicative  of  a 
determination  to  dare  all  and  do  all,  or  die,  their  grasp 
tightened  upon  their  muskets,  and  they  sprang  into 
line.  A  few  minutes  they  stood,  amid  a  gleaming 
forest  of  opposing  bayonets,  calmly  and  grimly  await- 
ing the  command  for  the  last  death-grapple  of  the 
war;  but  thank  God,  it  never  came!  It  was  with- 
held by  their  great  leader, — the  loving  man,  the  true 
gentleman,  the  humble  christian,  the  peerless  chief- 
tain,— who  saw  that  all  was  lost.  All  was  lost!  To 
him  what  a  moment  of  agony !  Within  it  was  com- 
pressed an  age  of  suffering;  and  his  noble  heart 
broke.  Not  long  after,  he,  too,  was  of  those,  whose 
graves  are  annually  garlanded  with  Southern  flowers, 
typical  of  the  bloom  and  fragrance  of  their  Southern 
virtues,  and  the  unending  remembrance  of  them  in 
Southern  hearts. 


AGRICL'LTURAL  DEMOCRACY. 


AGRICULTURAL  DEMOCRACY* 

Wliat  constitutes  a  State  ? 

Nut  higli-raiseil  battlement  and  labored  mound, 
Tliick  wall,  or  moated  gate  ; 

Not  cities  proud,  with  spires  and  turrets  crowned ; 
Not  bays  and  broad-armed  ports. 

Where,  laugliing  at  the  storm,  proud  navies  ride  ; 
Not  starred  and  spangleii  courts, 

Where  low-browed  baseness  wafts  perfume  to  pride; — 
No,  men — high  minded  men ! 

With  pow'rs  as  far  above  dull  brutes  endued, 
In  forest,  brake  or  glen. 

As  beasts  excel  cold  rocks  and  brambles  rude ; 
Men,  who  their  duties  know. 

But  know  their  rights,  and  knowing,  dare  maintain; — 

These  constitute  a  State  ! 

Sir  William  Joxes. 

In  this  centennial  year  of  American  independence, 
it  is  especially  appropriate  to  consider  the  causes  of  a 
nation's  prosperity  or  decline.  Upon  a  calm  and  full 
investigation  of  this  subject,  it  will  be  found,  that  all 
of  them  spring,  either  directly  or  remotely,  from  the 
condition  of  its  agriculture.  This  is  a  broad  asser- 
tion, but  it  is  fact,  and  is  susceptible  of  satisfactory 
proof. 

A  thoucrhtful  Enolishman,  in  certain  nervous  and 
vigorous  lines,  has  substantially  said  that,  it  is  "not 
high-raised  battlement,  thick  wall,  moated  gate,  rich. 

*  Speech  made  at  White  Church,  Barbour  county,  Ala.,  November  1st,  1876. 


28  AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY. 

navies,  or  cities  proud,  which  constitute  a  State — but 
men  I"  The  thought,  embodied  in  these  words,  is  in- 
disputable. Men  do  indeed  make  the  State.  If  these 
are  intelligent  and  virtuous, — if  these  are  industrious 
and  brave, — if  these  are  fall  of  love  of  country, — if 
these  are  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  free- 
dom,— then  will  the  State  be  prosperous  and  powerful 
and  happy.  While  on  the  other  hand,  if  its  people 
are  wanting  in  these  qualities, — no  matter  what  archi- 
tectural splendors  may  grace  its  cities ;  no  matter 
what  heaps  of  wealth  may  be  poured  into  its  coffers ; 
no  matter  what  poets,  philosophers,  historians,  paint- 
ers and  sculptors,  it  may  have  produced,  and  by 
whom  its  cultivated  mind  may  have  been  fixed  upon 
the  written  page,  the  glowing  canvas  or  the  shapely 
marble, — rottenness  is  at  its  heart,  and  decay  and 
death  will  inevitably  be  its  doom. 

Every  State,  which  has  risen  since  the  beginning 
of  time,  has  been  marked  by  one  of  two  civilizations, 
or  a  combination  of  them,  which,  in  a  broad  and  gen- 
eral classification,  may  be  set  down  as  a  couutry  and 
a  city  civilization.  The  civilization,  therefore,  which 
has  the  greatest  tendency  to  develop  and  strengthen 
the  virtues  suggested  as  being  so  essential  to  the  life 
and  health  of  a  State  is  the  one  to  be  preferred, — the 
one  to  be  fostered ; — and  I  say  here  to-day  that  this 
is  a  country  civilization !  And,  although  it  ought 
not,  of  course,  to  be  preferred  and  fostered  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  the  other, — the  beneficent  work  of  which,  as 
an  auxiliarj^,  is  by  no  means  small, — yet  it  should  in  all 


AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY.  29 

cases  of  combination,  be  made  vastly  and  heavily  to 
preponderate.  But  why  do  I  say  that  a  country  civ- 
ilization is  best  adapted  to  the  germination  and 
growth  of  these  essential  virtues  ?  Because,  while  in 
a  city  civilization,  the  mind,  through  the  grinding 
influences  of  trade,  and  the  polishing  influences  of 
cultivated  society,  is  made  sharp  and  keen  and 
bright,  frequently  at  the  expense  of  its  more  solid 
and  robust  parts,  and  still  more  frequently  at  the 
expense  of  physical  and  moral  soundness  and  com- 
pleteness,— in  a  country  civilization,  there  are  no 
influences,  which  must,  of  necessity,  be  followed  by 
such,  or  similar,  disastrous  results.  In  other  words, 
while  in  a  city  civilization,  only  a  part,  in  a  country 
civilization,  the  whole,  of  the  man  can,  as  a  general 
thing,  be  developed.  Agriculture  furnishes  to  those 
eno-ao-ed  in  it,  the  most  abundant  facilities  for  the 
thorough  exercise  of  every  phj^sical,  mental  and 
moral  qualification; — in  the  ever-moving,  and  ever- 
varying  labors  of  the  field ;  in  the  multifarious,  and, 
at  times,  intricate  and  refined  improvements,  essential 
to  legitimate  and  successful  farming;  in  the  appli- 
cation of  science  to  the  art  of  husbandry ;  in 
opportunities  for  close  and  systematic  study,  and  for 
the  acquisition  of  popular  and  general  information ; 
and  in  interposing  no  bar,  by  its  other  labors,  to  all 
necessary  self-communings,  and  to  daily  communings 
with  God,  through  the  medium  of  the  Bible,  amid 
the  quiet  comforts  of  a  home  out  of  reach  of  most  of 
the   snares   and    temptations    of  the    world,  and,   to 


30  AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY. 

almost  constant  communinojs  witli  Him,  throuoii  tliat 
of  nature,  upon  all  of  whose  visible  forms,  His  good- 
ness and  mercy,  wisdom  and  truth,  majesty  and 
glory,  are  scarely  less  plainly  portrayed,  than  upon 
the  pages  of  His  written  word  ; — and  if  properly  im- 
proved, the  result  are  men  full  of  physical,  mental 
and  moral  soundness  and  vitality.  Yes,  the  breath- 
ing of  country  air,  the  exercise  of  country  labors,  the 
inspiration  of  country  scenery,  are,  I  had  almost  said, 
essential  to  the  make-up  of  the  stalwart  nobility  of 
mankind, — the  champions  of  freedom, — the  support- 
ers of  society, — the  saviors  of  states, — men,  indeed, 
whose  characteristics  are  such  as  the  present  of  this 
countrj^,  so  greatly 

"Demands, — 
Strong  minds,  great  hearts,  pure  faith  and  ready  hands, — 

Men,  whom  the  hist  of  office  does  not  kill, — 
Men,  whom  the  spoils  of  office  cannot  buy, — 

Men,  who  possess  opinions  and  a  will,^ 
Men,  who  have  honor, — men,  who  v>-ill  not  lie, — 

Men,  who  can  stand  before  a  demagogue. 
And  damn  his  treacherous  flatteries  without  shrinking, — 

TaU  men — sun-crowned — who  live  above  the  fog, 
In  pubhc  duty,  and  in  private  thinking. " 

The  annals  of  the  world  are  a  standing  monument 
of  the  great  fact,  which  I  have  here  sought  to  im- 
press. Some  writer  has  called  history  the  Cheops  of 
Kations.  I  acknowledge  the  appropriateness  and 
force  of  the  poetic  idea, — and  afl&rni  that  there  is  not 
a  hieroglyph  upon  the  walls  of  this  vast  pyramid,  in 
which  nations  lie  entombed,  that  is  not  ablaze  with 


AGEICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY.  31 

this  all  important  truth.  Where  are  now  the  States 
of  the  old  world,  the  superstructure  of  whose  pros- 
perity was  reared  upon  a  city  civilization  ?  Where 
is  Tyre  ? — Tyre,  in  which,  at  one  time,  it  seemed,  the 
merchandise  of  the  whole  earth  was  piled, — whose 
people  were  almost  as  countless  as  the  sands  of  its 
beautiful  sea-shore, — and  to  which  "  all  other  nations 
appeared  less  as  allies,  than  tributaries," — Tyre, 
which  the  prophet,  Ezekiel, — symbolizing  the  vast 
extent  and  richness  of  its  trade, — likened  unto  a  su- 
perb vessel, — whose  ship-boards  were  made  of  the 
firs  of  Senir, — whose  masts  were  made  of  the  cedars 
of  Lebanon, — whose  oars  were  made  of  the  oaks  of 
Bashan, — whose  benches  of  ivory  were  made  by  the 
company  of  Asherites,  and  brought  out  of  the  isles  of 
Chittim, — whose  sails  were  made  of  fine  linen,  with 
embroidered  work  from  Egypt, — whose  decks  and 
sides  were  covered  with  blue  and  purple  from  the 
isles  of  Elishah, — whose  mariners  were  taken  from 
Arvad  and  Sidon, — and  whose  pilots  were  the  wise  of 
its  own  citizens, — Tyre,  pronounced  by  the  Prophet 
Isaiah,  the  crowned  city, — whose  merchants  were 
princes,  and  whose  traffickers  were  the  honorable  of 
earth  ?  Go  ask  the  few  squalid  and  beggarly  fisher- 
men, whose  nets  are  spread  to  dry  upon  the  broken 
columns  of  its  proudest  palaces  and  temples  !  Where 
is  Carthage? — Carthage,  w^hich  traffic  originated, — 
traffic  enriched, — traffic  enlarged, — Carthage,  which 
disputed  for  years  the  empire  of  the  world  with 
Eome, — Carthage  with  its  seven  hundred  thousand 


82  AGRICULTUEAL    DEMOCRACY. 

inhabitants,  and  its  three  hundred  dependent  cities 
upon  the  coast  of  Africa  ?  Go  ask  the  mindless  and 
nerveless  slave,  whose  chains  are  clanking  upon  its 
blighted  and  desolate  site,  or  the  wild  beast,  which 
finds  a  home  in  the  few  visible  fragments  of  its 
ruined  walls !  Where  is  Venice  and  Genoa  ? — 
"Venice,  the  imperial,  and  Genoa,  the  superb  ! — Venice 
throned  upon  an  hundred  islands  and  Genoa  throned 
upon  an  hundred  hills, — the  two  States,  which  were 
to  the  modern,  w^hat  Tyre  and  Carthage  were  to  the 
ancient,  world, — whose  commerce  whitened  every 
sea, — whose  influence  was  felt  to  the  uttermost  parts 
of  the  earth, — whose  people  dressed  in  purple  and 
fine  linen,  and  fared  sumptuously  every  day.  Al- 
though a  desolation  so  complete  has  not  overtaken 
them,  as  that  which  has  befallen  their  two  great  pre- 
decessors,— their  power  and  glory  have  departed, — 
their  people  are  little  better  than  timid  slaves, — the 
representatives  of  their  princes  are  hawkers  of  trink- 
ets,— and  many  of  their  marble  palaces  are  tenantless 
save  to  the  "  crannying  wind."     Their 


'Statues  of  glass — all  shivered; — the  long  files 

Of  their  dead  Doges  are  declined  to  dust ; 
But  where  they  dwelt — the  vast  and  sumptuous  piles 

Bespeak  the  pageant  of  their  splendid  trust. 

Their  sceptre  broken,  and  their  sword  in  rust, 
Have  yielded  to  the  stranger ;  empty  halls, 

Thin  streets,  foreign  aspects ;  such  as  must 
Too  oft  remind  them,  who  and  what  enthralls. 
Have  flung  a  desolate  cloud  o'er  these  States'  marble  walls." 


AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY.  33 

But  not  only  does  liistory  teach  by  examples, 
which  are  indisputable,  that  a  nation,  founded  exclu- 
sively upon  a  city  civilization,  is  always  sure  to  fall ; 
but  it  teaches  that  a  nation  founded  upon  a  country 
civilization  is  generally  sure  to  prosper.  Take  up 
the  history  of  Rome.  And  I  point  to  this  history, 
not  only  because  it  is  strongly  illustrative  of  the  idea 
indicated,  but  because  it  is  strikingly  suggestive  and 
sisfnificant,  when  considered  in  connection  with  that 
of  the  United  States,  as  far  as  the  latter  extends. 
Take  up  the  history  of  Eome  !  The  world  has  never 
seen  a  braver  and  nobler  people,  than  were  the  men 
of  that  State,  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  republic,  or  a 
people  more  ardently  attached  to  liberty ;  and  during 
that  period  they  were  emphatically  an  agricultural 
people.  The  leading  and  best  citizens  did  not  live  in 
the  city,  but  in  the  country  ;  and  senators,  consuls 
and  dictators  worked  as  ordinary  laborers  in  the 
fields.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  of  Roman  au- 
thors, in  alluding  to  this  fact,  with  a  burst  of 
enthusiasm,  exclaims,  that  "the  earth,  glorious  in 
seeing  herself  cultivated  by  the  hands  of  triumphant 
victors,  seemed  to  make  new  efforts  and  to  produce 
fruits  in  greater  abundance ;"  which,  by  the  way,  was 
but  an  elegant  and  poetic  method  of  saying  that  the 
cultivation  was  intelligent  and  thorough.  The  love 
of  ancient  Roman  leaders  for  country  life,  country 
labors  and  country  simplicity,  is  finely  illustrated  in 
the  rebuke  administered  by  an  old  senator  to  Appius 
Claudius.     "  Here,"    said    he,    comparing   the    farm, 


84  AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY. 

where  they  chanced  to  be,  with  the  magnificent  coun- 
try house  of  the  other, — "Here  we  see  neither 
painting,  statues,  carving  nor  mosaic  work,  but  to 
make  us  amends  we  have  all  that  is  necessary  to  the 
•cultivation  of  lands,  the  dressing  of  vines,  and  the 
feeding  of  cattle.  In  j'our  house  every  thing  shines 
with  gold,  silver  and  marble,  but  there  is  no  sign  of 
arable  lands  or  vineyards.  We  find  there  neither  ox, 
nor  cow,  nor  sheep.  There  is  neither  bay  in  cocks, 
vintage  in  cellars,  nor  harvest  in  barn.  Can  that  be 
called  a  farm  ?  In  what  does  it  resemble  that  of 
3^our  grandfather  and  great  grandfather  ?"  Manius 
Curius,  who  repeatedly  triumphed  over  the  Sabines 
and  Samnites,  and  finally  drove  the  great  king  of 
Epirus,  witb  his  eighty  thousand  veterans,  from  Italy, 
worked  and  fared  as  did  the  slaves  upon  his  little 
farm.  Cato,  the  censor,  who,  when  not  engaged  in 
^Dublic  service,  labored  indefatigably,  day  after  day, 
in  his  fields,  was  called  the  best  farmer  of  his  age. 
There  is  a  volume  of  meaning,  which  ought  to  be 
pondered,  in  one  of  his  favorite  expressions  with  re- 
gard to  agriculture.  "Those,"  said  he,  "who  exercise 
that  art  are  of  all  others  least  addicted  to  evil 
thoughts,"  Regulus,  in  the  midst  of  his  African 
campaign,  asked  permission  of  the  Roman  senate,  to 
return  and  cultivate  his  farm,  which  had  been  neg- 
lected during  his  absence, — wisely  preferring  the 
simple  wreath  of  a  successful  agriculturist,  to  the 
ornate  crown  of  a  successful  general.  Ah! — those 
were  the  iron  days  of  Rome,  and  the  golden  days  as 


AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY.  35 

-well, — when  its  power  and  independence  were  su- 
preme,— those  days  of  agricultural  encouragement 
and  elevation !  And  as  long  as  that  encouragement 
and  elevation  continued,  so  long  did  that  power  and 
independence  continue,  but  no  longer.  With  the  de- 
cline of  its  agriculture,  declined  all  of  the  virtues, 
which  made  Eome  the  pride  of  its  people,  and  the 
terror  of  its  enemies.  Turn  to  the  time  of  Tiberius, 
the  third  Caesar,  w^hen  the  sun  of  that  great  power, 
having  been  above  the  horizon  nearly  eight  hundred 
years,  had  passed  its  meridian  splendor,  and  w^as  has- 
tening to  its  setting,  in  a  sea  of  blood,  and  a  cloud  of 
shame.  Hear  what  a  true  and  wise  Roman,  living  at 
that  time,  has  to  say  about  the  abuse  of  its  agricul- 
ture, in  connection  with  the  profligacy  of  its  people. 
"I  see  at  Rome,"  said  he,  "schools  of  philosophers, 
rhetoricians,  and,  what  is  more  astonishing,  of  people 
solely  employed,  some  in  preparing  dishes  proper  to 
whet  the  appetite  and  excite  gluttony,  and  others  to 
adorn  the  head  with  artificial  curls,  but  not  one  for 
agriculture.  However  the  rest  might  be  well  spared; 
and  the  republic  flourished  long  without  any  of  these 
frivolous  arts ;  but  it  is  not  possible  to  want  that  of 
husbandry,  because  life  depends  upon  it.  Besides,  is 
there  a  more  honest  or  legal  means  of  preserving  or 
increasing  a  patrimony  ?  Is  the  profession  of  arms 
of  this  kind,  and  the  acquisition  of  spoils  always  dyed 
with  human  blood,  and  amassed  by  the  ruin  of  mul- 
titude of  persons  ?  Or  is  commerce  so,  which,  tearing 
citizens    away    from    their   native    country,    exposes 


36  AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY. 

tliem  to  the  farj  of  the  wind  and  the  sea,  and  drags 
them  into  unknown  worlds  in  pursuit  of  riches  ?  Or 
is  the  trade  of  money  and  usury  more  laudable, 
odious  and  fatal  as  they  are,  even  to  those  they  seem 
to  relieve?  Can  any  one  compare  either  of  these 
methods  with  wise  and  innocent  aoTiculture,  which 
only  the  depravity  of  our  manners  can  render  con- 
temptible, and,  by  a  necessary  consequence,  almost 
barren  and  useless?"  Yes, — truly  was  it  the  deprav- 
ity of  their  manners,  which  rendered  their  agriculture 
contemptible  and  barren  and  useless ;  and  it  may  be 
added,  on  the  other  hand,  as  their  agriculture  was 
rendered  more  and  more  contemptible,  the  depravity 
of  their  manners  went  on  increasins:,  until  Rome  fell, 
and  great,  utter,  overwhelming  was  the  fall  of  it. 

And  now  what  does  history  say  of  the  United 
States,  and  its  civilization?  It  says  that,  to  the  cul- 
mination of  the  unfortunate  events  resulting  in  the 
late  war,  agriculture  in  these  States  was  the  leading 
interest — the  interest,  in  which  their  best  men  were 
chiefly  engaged,  and  their  wealth  chiefly  embarked. 
It  says  that  the  war  of  the  revolution  was,  in  a  great 
measure,  fought  and  won  bv  farmers.  It  savs  that 
the  government  was,  in  a  great  measure,  administered 
by  farmers.  It  says  that  Washington's  highest 
earthlv  ambition  was  to  be  considered  one  of  the  best 
of  farmers.  In  a  word,  it  says  that  the  fields,  which 
God  made,  controlled  the  town,  which  man  made. 
And  what  a  country  was  the  result!  What  a  people  1 
What  a   government!     A  country,  in  which  every 


AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY.  37 

day  added  to  the  appliances  and  effects  of  prosperitv 
and  power — a  people  brave,  sturdy,  honest,  industri- 
ous, and  with  a  love  of  freedom,  which,  it  seemed, 
could  never  be  impaired  or  shaken, — and  a  govern- 
ment faithful  to  all  its  high  trusts, — running  in  the 
interest  of  no  cliques  or  factions,  but  keeping  step 
constantly  to  the  grand  old  march  of  union,  frater- 
nity, and  the  "  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number 
of  the  people." 

Bat  histor}^  tells  a  different  story  of  this  country 
and  its  civilization  to-day.  It  tells  that  agriculture, 
although  still,  in  many  respects,  the  leading  interest, 
has  lost  prestige,  position  and  power.  It  tells  that 
agriculture  has  been  shorn  of  its  wealth.  It  tells  that 
agriculture  has  been  fettered  by  unwise  and  oppres- 
sive legislation.  It  tells  that,  by  these  means,  assisted 
by  the  aggregation  of  capital  in  the  cities,  and  power- 
ful rings  and  monopolies,  the  civilization  of  the 
United  States  is  rapidly  changing  from  a  country  to 
a  city  civilization, — from  a  country  civilization, 
under,  and  by  the  aid  of  which,  their  liberties  and 
greatness,  like  those  of  Eome,  were  achieved  and 
maintained, — to  a  city  civilization,  under  and  by  the 
aid  of  which,  should  the  transition  become  complete, 
they  will,  like  those  of  Rome,  be  assuredly  and  for- 
ever destroyed.  Already  evidences  of  the  decline  of 
republican  virtues  are  everywhere  visible, — in  the 
greed,  and  wild  hunt  after  office  and  money, — in  the 
corruption,  which  stalketh  abroad,  even  at  noon-day, 
unshamed    in   the   presence    of   the    world, — in    the 


38  AGRICULTURAL    DEMOCRACY. 

lascivious  riot  of  city  wealth  and  luxury, — in  rulers 
being  what  the  greatest  of  the  prophets  has  so  heavily 
denounced, — "companions  of  thieves,  lovers  of  gifts 
and  followers  after  rewards," — and  above  all,  in  the 
apathy  and  indifference,  with  which  the  highest  gov- 
ernmental, as  well  as  individual,  crimes,  are  regarded 
by  the  masses  of  the  people. 

Oh ! — while  struggling  in  all  other  ways  to  uproot 
these  alarming  evils,  the  good  men  of  this  country, — 
the  good  men  of  the  cities,  as  well  as  the  good  men  of 
the  rural  districts, — should  not  fail  to  take  those  steps, 
by  which  such  evils  in  a  state  can  alone  be  effectually 
and  finally  removed.  They  must  build  up  agricul- 
ture !  They  can  build  up  commerce, — build  up 
manufiictures  ; — but  let  them  build  up  agriculture  at 
the  same  time, — build  it  np  all  the  time, — repair 
every  damage  it  has  sustained, — restore  every  ram- 
part it  has  lost, — enlarge  its  boundaries, — lay  its 
foundations  broader  and  deeper, — and  raise  its  super- 
structure higher  and  grander, — that  those  of  other 
interests  may  be,  as  God  intended  them,  merely  its 
appendages — giving  to  it  indeed,  while  deriving  from 
it,  beauty  and  strength, — but  never  its  superiors, — 
never  its  equals. 


THE  REBEL  DEAD. 


THE  REBEL  DEAD, 


Home-pictnres  make  those  of  war  seem  darker ; 
War-pictures  make  those  of  home  seem  sweeter. 

Eastern  Proverbs. 

True  ;  rebels  they  were,  firm  and  strong, — 

Bnt  not  as  a  pitiless  foe 
Portrays  them  in  hist'ry  and  song, — 

Portrays  them,  and  smiles  at  the  woe 
Their  death,  in  its  train  brought  along. 

Not  rebels  to  honor,  not  rebels  to  truth, — 

Not  rebels  to  faith,  and  not  rebels  to  ruth. 
But  oh  I  they  were  rebels  to  wrong. 

They  clung  to  their  State  with  a  love, 

That  in  beauty  and  power  was  one, 
As  pure  as  her  blue  sky  above, — 

As  bright  and  as  warm  as  her  sun, 
Which  not  a  disaster  could  move. 

Her  action  to  them  was  the  law  and  the  right, — 

When  called  she  for  aid  they  were  ready  to  fight, 
And  die,  too,  her  honor  to  prove. 

And  husbands  they  were. — Ev'ry  part 

Of  home-life  was  sacredly  sweet, 
With  flowers,  that  bloom  in  the  heart, — ■ 

With  flowers,  that  bloom  under  feet, — 
Which  wife-tilled  such  fragrance  impart. 

Their  zeal  for  the  South  only  ending  with  life, — 

Devotion  unselfish, — like  that  of  the  wife, — 
Made  painless  grim  death's  bloody  dart. 


40  THE    REBEL    DEAD. 

Aud  brothers  I — As  fresh  as  a  morn, 

The  soft'^st  and  sweetest  in  May, 
The  faith  of  the  sister  e'er  shone, 

But  never  with  steadier  ray. 
Than  when  with  white  hands  she  jout  on 

The  armor  of  brother.     The  sister's  great  trust, 

And  firmness  were  his  'neath  the  sabre's  red  thrust, 
As,  breathing  a  prayer,  he  was  gone. 

And  fathers  ! — whose  children  did  rove, 

With  laughter  and  shout  by  the  rill, 
That  sang  near  the  cot  in  the  grove, — 

That  smiled  'neath  the  hall  on  the  hill, — 
Those  sweet  little  prattlers  of  love, — 

Not  dull  grains  of  earth,  but  sparkles  of  heaven  I  — 

As  child-pure,  the  hopes  of  fathers  were  given 
The  cause  for  whose  triumph  they  strove. 

And  sons  they  of  great  mothers,  too, 

Who  bade  them  in  battle  be  bold, 
To  strike  Uke  stern  Martel,  who  slew 

The  Paynim-invaders  of  old. 
And  thus  gained  his  name — it  was  due.* 

A  courage  'twas  enough — these  rebels  e'er  showed. 

In  life,  aud  in  death,  like  the  courage  that  glowed 
In  mothers'  hearts  noble  and  true. 

They  were  men — the  grandest  of  men  I 

Their  faith,  love,  hope,  valor  shone  bright, 

As  radiant  in  sj^irit  as  when 

Kosciusko  dared  all  for  the  right. 

And  failing,  showed  worthier  then. 

Oh  South,  to  thy  dutj'  1 — let  blossoms  of  fame, 
In  beauty  supernal,  enwreathe  ev'ry  name, — 

To  wither  ! — no,  never  again  I 

*  It  is  said,  that  at  the  battle  of  Poiters,  where  the  power  of  the  Arabs  U'nth  of 
the  Pyrenees  was  broken,  and  their  career  of  western  conquest  terminated,  the 
ringing  sound  of  the  blows  dealt  by  the  iron-hand  of  Charles  upon  the  heads  of  the 
Saracens,  plainly  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  conflict,  obtained  for  him  the  surname 
of  Martel,  or  the  Hammer. 


THE  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 


THE  SOUTHERN  PLANTER. 

He  was  a  man  fit  for  whatever  is  greatest  and  bravest  among  men,  and  withal 
such  a  lover  of  mankind,  that  whatsoever  had  any  real  parts  in  him  found  comfort, 
participation,  and  protection,  to  the  uttermost  of  his  power,— like  Zeplierus,  he  gave 
life  wherever  he  blew.  Lokd  Brooke. 

No  finer  type  of  the  gentleman  lias  this  world  ever 
produced  than  the  Southern  planter.  Look  at  him 
before  the  late  war !  *  Brought  up  to  feel,  when  he 
stood  upon  his  paternal  acres,  that  he  was  the  mon- 
arch of  what  he  surveyed,  and  that  watchfulness  and 
tenderness,  with  regard  to  all  confided  to  his  care, 
was  a  great  duty, — a  paramount  obligation, — he  was 
independent  without  haughtiness,  and  determined 
without  obstinacy.  Surrounded  by  an  ample  supply 
of  the  world's  goods,  which  his  early  training  taught 
him  were  to  be  enjoyed,  not  hoarded, — were  to  be 
used  as  the  means  of  beautifying  life,  not  as  the  end 
of  it, — he  was  generous  without  calculation,  and  char- 
itable without  display.  With  all  the  health-giving 
influences  and  freedom  of  the  country  about  him,  and 
with  the  purity  and  beauty,  which  God  had  so  legibly 
written  upon  earth  and  sky,  entering  into  and  en- 
nobling his  spirit, — he  was  strong  without  arrogance, 
honest  without  censoriousness,  genial  without  levity, 
2* 


42  THE   SOUTHERX   PLA^'TER. 

and  candid  without  rudeness.  Passing,  in  short,  the 
larger  portion  of  his  time  upon  his  plantation, — his 
mind  engaged  in  superintending,  and  providing  for, 
its  varied  interests, — his  frame  developed  bv  every 
manly  exercise, — and  his  heart  invigorated  and  bright- 
ened b}^  close  and  almost  constant  communion  with 
nature  in  all  her  visible  forms, — there  was  in  him 
no  part  of  the  man  wanting, — he  stood  forth,  in 
mental,  moral  and  physical  proportions,  complete  and 
finished  ; — as  nearly  so,  at  any  rate,  as  was  possible  to 
mere  mortality  with  its  manifold  weaknesses  and 
imperfections. 

When  the  war  ended  he  was  the  last  in  the  field,  as 
he  was  the  first  when  it  began.  Feeling  that  all  was 
lost  save  honor,  he  accepted  the  settlement  of  the 
great  issue  by  the  sword, — honestly  renewed  his  alle- 
giance to  the  government, — and  quietly  turned  his 
attention  to  his  private  affairs.  He  found  his  planta- 
tion in  ruins,  his  supplies  scattered,  his  stock  gone, 
and  the  character  of  his  labor  changed.  The  accom- 
plishment of  the  task  before  him,  with  money,  was 
not  easy, — without  money,  it  was  most  difiicult ; — 
with  habits  of  systematic  and  undeviating  thrift,  and 
a  thorough  appreciation  of  the  situation,  it  was  her- 
culean,— without  them,  it  was  simply  impossible. 
Accustomed  to  pay  off'  large  debts  every  year  by  the 
proceeds  of  his  crops,  so  that  he  was  never  embar- 
rassed, and  had  consequently  no  fear  of  such  obliga- 
tions,— princely  in  his  style  of  living, — in  his  hospi- 
tality,— in  his  charity  ; — careless  in  the  management 


THE  SOUTHERX  PLANTER.  43 

of  his  property, — in  his  expenditures, — in  his  collec- 
tions,— he  soon  found  himself  inextricably  involved, 
and  was  speedily  crushed  beneath  the  accumulated 
weight  of  financial  burdens.  Yet  a  few  years,  and 
the  last  trace  of  him  will  have  disappeared ;  and  de- 
spite his  faults, — indeed  because  of  his  faults,  for  they 
all  sprang  from  that  noblest  attribute  of  humanity, — ■ 
a  generous,  and  unsuspecting  nature, — it  may  truly  be 
said,  that  the  world  will  then  have  forever  lost  the 
man,  whom 

"Take  him  for  all  in  all, 
We  ne'er  shall  look  upon  his  like  again." 

These  lines  can  never  become  stale,  because  Shaks- 
peare  wrote  them.  They  have  been  often  quoted, — 
and  yet  it  may  well  be  doubted  if  they  have  ever 
heretofore  been  applied  so  fitly  and  truthfully,  as  they 
are  now  applied  to  the  Southerx  Planter. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  STATE. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  STATE  IS  IN  ITS 
INDUSTRIES.* 

Ill  fares  the  land  to  hast'ning  ills  a  prey, 
WTiere  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay. 

Goldsmith. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  submit  to  this  Convention 
an  elaborately  prepared  paper,  or  to  make  to  it  what 
is  ordinarily  termed  a  regular  built  speech.  Indeed, 
I  occupy  to-day,  in  connection  with  its  proceedings, 
rather  an  humble  position.  The  distinguished  gen- 
tlemen, who  are  to  follow  me,  according  to  the  fixed 
order  of  exercises,  have  each  some  special  industry  of 
a  state  to  discuss.  It  is  made  my  business  to  speak 
of  these  industries  generally.  My  remarks,  therefore, 
will  bear  about  the  same  relation  to  the  solid  and 
useful  body  of  its  work,  that  a  porch  does  to  a  house, 
or  rather  that  a  preface  does  to  the  remaining  contents 
of  a  book.  They  will  be  simply  introductory,  and,  as 
all  such  remarks  ought  to  be,  short. 

The  strength  of  a  state  is  in  its  industries.  The 
question  of  greatest  practical  importance,  which  pre- 

*  Si'eech  made  before  the  Industrial  Convention  held  at  Blount  Springs,  Alabama, 
Sept.  4th,  1877. 


46  THE    STKEXGTH    OF    A    STATE. 

sents  itself  for  investigation  and  solution,  in  connec- 
tion with  this  interesting  subject,  is,  how  may  these 
industries  be  vitalized  and  enlarged?  And  herein,  it 
is  found  that  both  government  and  society  often  sadly 
neglect  one  of  their  chief  duties,  and  consequently 
often  misapply  their  energies.  The  duty  of  each,  with 
regard  to  this  matter,  will  be  made  to  appear, — very 
imperfectly,  however,  it  is  apprehended, — in  the 
answer  to  the  great  question  proposed :  How  may  the 
industries  of  a  State  be  vitalized  and  enlarged  ?  In 
order  to  determine  this  question  satisfactorily,  it  is 
necessary  to  ascertain  upon  what  these  industries 
mainly  depend  for  activity  and  strength.  There  is  no 
need  of  turning  to  any  treatise  on  political  economy 
for  this  information.  Common  sense  stands  ready  to 
give  it  fully  and  at  once  ;  and  it  is  embraced  in  the 
single  word — consumption  !  The  more  extended  the 
reach  of  consumption  among  the  people, — the  stronger 
and  more  numerous  are  the  markets  established, — the 
more  active  and  rapid  the  various  kinds  of  industrial 
exchanges, — the  larger  and  finer  the  products,  and  the 
greater,  consequently,  and  more  powerful  the  stimulus 
given  to  industry.  I  have  seen  it  frequently  stated 
in  leading  journals  of  the  country,  that  there  are  per- 
haps ten  millions  of  laboring  families  in  the  United 
States.  Let  the  earnings  of  each  of  these  families  be 
increased  onlj^  one  dollar  per  day  ;  and  it  will  be  found 
that  nearly  four  thousand  millions  of  dollars  are  added 
to  their  aljility  to  purchase  annually  the  products  of 
industry,  or  the  necessaries  of  life  ;  and,  in  proportion 


THE    STREXGTH    OF   A   STATE.  47 

to  this  vast  sum  per  annum,  is  consumption  enlarged, 
and  labor  vitalized  and  invigorated.  The  need,  too, 
of  a  broader  and  deeper  reach  of  consumption,  among 
the  great  mass  of  the  people,  is  daily  growing  stronger 
and  more  urgent,  and  is  made  to  do  so,  by  the  rapid 
multiplication  and  improvement  of  all  sorts  of  labor- 
saving  machinery.  With  a  few  men,  by  the  aid  of 
such  appliances,  doing  the  work  of  thousands,  and 
their  power  and  ability  in  this  respect,  being  con- 
stantly augmented, — without  a  steady  increase  of 
consumption,  there  will  be — there  must  be — period- 
ical returns  frequently  of  overflowing  markets,  unem- 
ployed labor,  with  general  depression,  bankruptcy  and 
starvation. 

What  is  needed  to  increase  this  purchasing  ability 
on  the  part  of  the  masses  of  the  people,  and  thereby 
enlarge  consumption,  and  invigorate  the  industries  of 
a  state,  is,  that  the  interest  upon  money  be  rated  low 
enough  to  make  it  correspond,  as  closely  as  may  be, 
with  the  profits  upon  labor, — or,  the  value  of  the  one 
be  brought  and  kept,  as  nearly  as  possible,  upon  a 
level  with  the  value  of  the  other; — in  other  words, 
that  unlaboring  capital  be  not  allowed  to  realize  prof- 
its so  much  heavier,  than  those  of  laboring  brain  and 
muscle,  or,  of  laboring  brain  and  muscle  conjoined 
with  laboring  capital.  The  correspondence  of  these 
values  or  profits  can  be  approximated, — at  any  rate 
usurious  interest  can,  to  a  great  extent,  be  pre- 
vented,— by  the  currency  of  a  State  being  made  fully 
adequate  to  the  industrial  necessities  of  its  people — 


48  THE   STREXGTH   OF   A   STATE. 

by  the  volume  of  currency  being  maintained  at  tlie 
point  required  to  supply  easily  all  the  demands  of 
labor  for  its  multifarious  exchanges.  The  rightful- 
ness of  such  an  adjustment, — to  say  nothing  of  its 
advantages, — in  the  incentive  to  industry,  and  in  the 
advancement  of  general  prosperity, — is  plain,  when 
it  is  remembered  that  labor,  or  labor  combined  with 
laboring  capital,  often  fails  in  the  accumulation  of 
material  wealth,  and,  at  best,  it  is  said,  only  accumu- 
lates at  the  rate  of  three  or  four  per  cent.,  while 
unlaboring  capital  does  so  at  double,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  at  quadruple  this  rate. 

The  rapid  increase  of  money  by  interest  is  rarely 
thought  of,  and  consequently  rarely  appreciated. 
Amounts  even  at  six  per  cent.,  compounded,  are  dou- 
bled every  dozen  years.  At  this  rate,  how  long 
would  it  take  a  few  of  the  immense  fortunes  at  the 
North, — one  of  the  wretched  outgrowths  of  govern- 
mental frauds  and  popular  corruption, — to  grasp  and 
selfishly  appropriate  the  bulk  of  unfixed  American 
capital  ?  Several  of  these  fall  but  little  short  of  one 
hundred  millions  of  dollars.  One  hundred  millions 
of  dollars  !  Such  an  amount  at  six  per  cent,  interest, 
compounded,  in  the  course  of  one  hundred  years, 
would  reach  the  stupendous  sum  of  nearly  forty 
thousand  millions  of  dollars.  And  by  way  of  addi- 
tional illustration,  let  us  glance  briefly  at  the  accu- 
mulations of  the  Rothschilds  family.  According  to 
certain  scraps  at  present  going  the  rounds  of  the 
newspapers,  it  appears  that  the  public  history  of  that 


THE    STRENGTH   OF   A   STATE.  49 

family,  financially,  commenced  with  Moses  Eoths- 
childs,  who,  during  the  last  century,  was  a  poor  man, 
— a  small  and  obscure  banker  at  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main.  His  honesty,— especially  as  displayed  in  the 
preservation  of  jewels  and  money  to  a  large  amount 
belonging  to  one  of  the  German  princes,  who  was 
compelled,  by  revolutionary  troubles,  to  fly  from  his 
country,  and,  in  the  subsequent  restoration  of  the 
whole  property,  which  the  worthy  Moses  could  read- 
ily have  appropriated,  upon  the  plea  of  its  having 

been  discovered  by  the  enemy  and  taken  from  him, 

so  lifted  his  reputation,  that  business,  Hke  "great- 
ness," with  some  of  the  men  known  to  Malvolio,  was 
"thrust  upon  him."  From  this  small  and  humble 
beginning,  that  business,  under  the  management  of 
his  associated  descendants,  has  increased,  until  to- 
day,— in  but  little  more  than  a  single  century, — the 
wealth  aggregated  by  it  and  invested  in  it,  is  repre- 
sented to  be  not  less  than  live  thousand  millions  of 
dollars.  And  it  may  be  further  said, — should  no  dis- 
aster befall  the  Rothschilds, — in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time,  at  the  rates  of  money  increase  in 
Europe,  which  are  much  smaller  than  they  are  in  the 
United  States,  the  larger  portion  of  the  floating 
wealth  of  that  vast  continent  will  be  in  the  hands  of 
this  one  family. 

The  government  of  the  United  States,  instead  of 
being  guided  by  the  sound  principle  of  political  econ- 
omy just  suggested,  is  pursuing  a  course  diametrically 
opposed  to  its  teachings.     In  the  place  of  enlaro-ino-  a 

3  loo 


50  THE   STKE^'GTH   OF   A   STATE. 

monied  circulation  notoriously  inadequate  to  the 
wants  of  business  and  trade,  it  is  zealously  engaged 
in  the  work  of  contraction,  indirectly,  if  not  direct- 
ly^— perhaps  both.  The  value  of  money  is  being 
greatly  enhanced,  and  the  value  of  labor  proportion- 
ately lowered.  The  gains  of  the  money-kings  are 
being  added  to  with  startling  rapidity ;  and  by  the 
consequent  depression  of  industries,  these  gains,  it  is 
no  exaggeration  to  say,  are  being  coined  out  of  the 
tears,  groans  and  lives  of  the  masses  of  the  people. 
While  other  governments  have  found  thirty  or  forty 
dollars  J9er  capita,  as  a  circalating  medium,  none  too 
much ;  in  the  United  States  it  has  been  brought  to 
scarcely  more  than  fifteen  dollars  per  capita ;  and  it  is 
daily  being  made  smaller.  While  the  English  gov- 
ernment has  found  that  three  or  four  per  cent.,  upon 
its  bonded  indebtedness,  is  as  much  as  the  labor  of 
that  great  kingdom  can  well  carry,  the  United  States 
government,  although  paying  nearly,  if  not  quite, 
double  the  rate  being  paid  by  the  other,  upon  a 
bonded-indebtedness  but  little  inferior  in  amount,  and 
with  much  less  than  half  of  the  taxable  wealth, — is 
steadily  adding  to  this  enormous  and  destructive 
burden  upon  the  industrial  energies  of  the  people,  by 
the  demonetization  of  silver,  and  the  contraction  of 
the  legal  tender  currency. 

One  of  the  terrible  results  of  this  poUcy  on  the  part 
of  the  government,  as  you  know, — and  a  very  painful 
knowledge  it  is  to  all  of  you, — has  been  a  labor-strike, 
which  recently  swept  with  tornado-like  force,  over  a 


THE   STRENGTH   OF   A   STATE.  51 

large  part  of  the  country,  not  only  wrecking  millions 
of  dollars'  worth  of  property,  and  producing  untold 
suffering  in  many  quarters,  but  inaugurating,  for  a 
time,  in  several  of  the  larger  cities,  a  saturnalia  of 
vice  and  crime, — a  disregard  of  the  rights  of  individ- 
uals,— and  a  contempt  for  all  law,  both  divine  and 
human, — the  evil  influences  of  which  will  be  felt  for 
many — many  long  years  to  come.  These  strikes,  it 
may  be  well  to  remark,  even  did  they  reach  the  evil 
sought  to  be  remedied,  being  destructive  of  all  law, 
order  and  good  government,  can  hardly  be  too  much 
feared,  and  too  promptly  checked  ; — but  they  do  not 
remedy  the  evil.  On  the  contrary  they  aggravate 
it ; — a  simple  sore  upon  the  body-politic,  deeply  seated 
it  may  be,  but  controllable  with  skillful  treatment, 
becomes,  under  such  rough  and  violent  management, 
a  cancer,  far-reaching  in  the  multiplied  ramification  of 
its  roots,  and  often  wholly  incurable.  Employers  and 
employes  make  up  the  two  wings  of  the  great  army 
of  industry,  and  a  struggle  between  them  is,  in  truth, 
a  heavy  blow  given  to  the  very  vitals  of  labor.  The 
evil  largely,  in  fact,  almost  exclusively,  exists  in  the 
scarcity  of  money,  which,  through  high  interest,  eats 
up  the  proceeds  of  labor,  and  starves  and  paralyzes  it. 
And  it  ought  to  be  added  here,  that,  while  it  is  the 
bounden  duty  of  government  to  put  down  all  lawless- 
ness with  a  strong  and  ready  hand,  it  is  equally  the 
duty  of  government  to  give  no  occasion  for  lawless- 
ness by  its  own  wrongful  actions  ;  for  where  such 
occasion-  is  given,  all  right-thinking  men  and  nations 


52  THE    STRENGTH    OF   A    STATE. 

will  visit  it  with  as  grave  censure,  as  the  misguided 
and  miserable  creatures,  provoked  into  outbreaks,  bj 
its  follj  and  injustice. 

And  society  has  assisted  government  in  this  unjust 
and  disastrous  discrimination  against  the  industries  of 
a  state!  Under  the  influence  of  certain  prejudices, 
which  it  has  dignified  Avith  the  name  of  laws,  it  has 
been  accustomed  to  place  a  higher  social  estimate 
upon  those  who  do  nothing — upon  those  who  lazdy 
enjoy  the  profits  of  labor, — than  npon  those  who  hon- 
estly and  vigorously  toil  for  them.  Thank  heaven, 
in  the  southern  country,  where  the  lines  of  this 
discrimination  were,  at  one  time,  strongly  marked  and 
widely  drawn,  they  have  been  almost  entirely  oblit- 
erated! Thank  heaven,  that  here,  at  least,  through 
innate  nobleness  of  character,  called  into  active  play 
by  the  nature  of  the  times,  and  the  stern  teachings  of 
adversity,  social  usages  have  been  so  modified,  that 
the  horny  palms  of  manual,  as  well  as  the  furrowed 
brows  of  intellectual,  labor,  clothed  in  homespun,  are 
regarded  and  treated  as  infinitely  higher  badges  of 
honor  than  the  blanched  hands  and  sleek  fronts  of  the 
"do-nothings,"  clad  in  silken  sheen  and  purfled  laces! 
And  why  should  not  all  labor  be  so  regarded — so 
treated — so  exalted?  Xot  only  is  it  the  source  of  all 
wealth,  but  it  is  the  foundation  of  every  other  ele- 
ment which  gives  health  and  stability  to  a  state. 

Labor  is  chivalrous.  It  is  character!  The  hard- 
workers  are  the  true  nobility  of  earth.  To  the  blood, 
which    courses   in   such   red  splendor  through  their 


THE    STRENGTH    OF    A    STATE.  53 

veins,  the  best  that  ever  warmed  the  heart  of  the 
princehest  Plantagenet,  is  as  the  stagnant  pool  to  the 
mountain-rivulet.  There  is  no  bar-sinister  upon  their 
escutcheon — no, — none  through  the  long  array  of 
their  glorious  ancestry,  reaching  back,  as  it  does,  to 
the  very  dawn  of  creation  itself 

Labor  is  purifying.  Turn  to  the  black  catalogue 
of  crime,  and  it  will  be  seen  how  almost  unvaryingly 
idleness  and  vice  are  associated.  The  prince  of  dark- 
ness seldom  finds  an  entrance  into  busy  hearts  to 
incite  basy  hands  to  the  doing  of  his  foul  behests. 
He  is  repelled  generally  not  only  by  the  want  of 
room,  but  by  the  atmosphere  of  purity,  which  per- 
vades all  their  secret  chambers. 

Labor  is  elevatino-.  Where  would  one  look  for 
manly  energy,  firm  resolve,  unerring  judgment,  and 
unbending  virtue?  A\"here  would  he  seek  for  a 
friend  to  take  to  his  bosom,  as  a  companion  and  a 
guide,  a  sympathizer  and  a  counsellor?  Where 
Avould  he  search  for  a  leader  in  some  great  and 
chivalrous  enterprise?  Where,  in  short,  would  he 
find  a  "oiant's  streng^th,  a  hero's  coura^'e,  a  child's 
simplicity,  an  apostle's  love  and  a  martyr's  will?"  In 
the  seats  of  pampered  ease  and  indulgence,  or  in  the 
seats  of  honest  toil, — in  the  haunts  of  fashion,  or  in 
the  haunts  of  industry, — in  the  former  reeking  with 
the  pestilential  fumes  of  dissipation  and  trifling,  or  in 
the  latter  fresh  and  buoyant  with  the  perfumed  air, 
and  all  ablaze  with  the  pure  light  of  native  and  labor- 
acquired  strength?     Need  an  answer  be  given? 


54  THE    STEEXGTH    OF    A    STATE. 

Labor  is  the  stalwart  and  fearless  guardian  of  lib- 
erty. Slavery  can  hardly  be  fastened  upon  a  nation 
over  Avhich  this  great  spirit  presides.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  little  Switzerland  have  ever  been  a  laboring- 
people  ; — and  the  battles  of  Mortgarten  and  Sempach, 
by  which  the  vast  military  power  of  Austria  was  par- 
alyzed,— and  those  of  Granson,  Murten  and  Nanci, 
in  which  the  ponderous  and  well- drilled  legions  of 
Charles  the  Bold  of  Burgundy  were  overwhelmed, — 
show  how  they  could  fight  for  freedom.  The  inhab- 
itants of  little  Holland  have  ever  been  a  laboring 
people ; — and  their  free  spirit  and  resolution,  all  the 
exertions  of  Spanish  brutality  and  French  ambition, 
backed  by  vast  armies  wanting  nothing  in  discipline 
and  appointments,  led  by  such  captains  as  the  Duke 
of  Parma,  on  the  one  hand,  and  Turenne  and  Luxem- 
buro[,  on  the  other,  were  unable  to  subdue  or  tame. 
When  every  hope  of  successful  resistance,  at  one 
time,  seemed  over,  they  broke  down  their  dykes,  and 
buried  their  country,  with  its  vast  heaps  of  wealth 
and  rich  treasures  of  art,  beneath  the  waves  of  the 
German  ocean,  with  the  deathless  feeling  in  their 
hearts,  which  found  utterance  upon  the  tongue  of 
their  noble  leader, — "better  a  drowned  country  than 
a  lost  country!"  And  in  final  attestation  of  this  fact, 
it  is  only  necessary  to  point  to  the  handful  of  labor- 
ing American  colonists,  in  their  struggle  with  the 
foremost  power  of  the  world,  and  the  character  and 
results  of  the  battles  of  Bunker  Hill  and  Lexington, 
King's  Mountain  and  Cowpens,  Monmouth  and  York- 
town. 


THE   STRENGTH   OF   A   STATE.  55 

And  above  all,  labor  is  the  offspring  of  Deity !  It 
was  performed  bj  God  in  the  creation, — and  to  over- 
come the  curse  of  the  ground,  it  was  graciously 
bestowed  by  Him  upon  man.  It  is  divine ! — divine 
in  its  original  performance! — divine  in  its  original  ap- 
pointment! And  everywhere,  its  honest  exertions, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  are  living  songs  of 
praise  to  Him!  It  is,  as  the  poet  has  well  said — 
worship! — and  none  should  neglect  it — none  should 
seek  to  evade  it: 

"Labor  is  worship,  the  robin  is  singing! 
Labor  is  worship,  the  wild  bee  is  ringing! 
Listen! — that  eloquent  whisper,  upspringing, 

Speaks  to  thy  spirit  from  Nature's  great  heart : 
From  the  dark  cloud  comes  the  life-giving  shower, — ■ 
From  the  rough  sod  springs  the  soft  breathing  flower, — 
From  the  small  insect,  the  rich  coral  bower, — 

Man,  in  the  plan,  should  not  shrink  from  his  part." 

Ah! — with  what  health  and  strength,  then,  would 
a  state  be  invested  by  universal  labor; — with  what 
virtue  and  purity  would  it  be  filled; — with  what 
honor  and  glory  would  it  be  crowned!  Under  the 
benign  influences  of  such  labor,  the  fleeting  dream  of 
the  philosopher,  gorgeous  as  the  sun-dyed  clouds  of  a 
summer's  evening,  would  be  caught  and  imprisoned; 
— and  the  model  republic  would  be  no  longer  a  myth, 
but  a  reality. 


MEMORIAL  DAY. 


MEMORIAL  DAY* 

Their  shivered  gwords  are  red  with  rust, 

Their phiiued  heads  are  bowed; 
Their  haughty  banner,  trailed  in  dust, 

Is  now  their  martial  shroud. 
And  plenteous  funeral  tears  have  washed 

The  red  stains  from  each  brow. 
And  these  proud  forms,  by  battle  gashed, 

Are  free  from  anguish  now. 

Theodore  O'JIara. 

This  is  a  solemn  day!  It  is  solemn  in  its  institu- 
tion, solemn  in  its  ceremonials,  solemn  in  its  associa- 
tions, solemn  in  every  thought  and  duty  which  it 
suggests  and  teaches.  Is  it  too  much  to  say  that  we, 
the  Confederate  living,  seem  now  to  stand  in  the 
presence  of  the  Confederate  soldier-dead?  Is  it  even 
too  much  to  say  that,  to-day,  appears  slowly  to  defile 
before  us  the  long  hue  of  heroes,  who  fought  so 
grandly  upon  every  blood-stained  field  from  Manassas 
to  Appomattox,  clad  in  the  ashen  gray  of  the  evening 
sky,  into  which  they  have  passed,  every  face  aglow 
with  the  resolute  expression  of  the  same  high  faith 
which  warmed  their  hearts  at  each  step  of  their 
soldier-life,  but  darkened  at  times  by  an  anxious 
shadow,  as  if  they  mutely  asked:     "Have  you  who 

*  Speech  made  at  the  Selma  city  cemetery,  on  Memorial  day — April  26th,  1877. 


6S  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

have  survived  us,  been  also  faithful?  Have  you  vin- 
dicated our  memories,  in  the  only  \,'aj  that  they 
could  be  properly  and  effectually  vindicated,  by  a  like 
unshaken  confidence  in  the  truth  and  ultimate  tri- 
umph of  the  principles  for  which  we  fought,  and 
suffered,  and  bled  and  died?"  Grave  question!  Who 
among  us,  with  hand  upon  heart,  can  reply  that, 
through  all  these  latter  years  of  desolation  and  sor- 
row, }'ears  of  right  fettered  and  powerless,  and  wrong 
enthroned  and  triumphant ;  Avho  among  us,  I  say,  can 
reply:  "I  have  never  faltered;  I  have  kept  the  faith, 
and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  will  keep  it  unto  the 
end?"  The  Avomen  can  indeed  do  so — those  glorious 
Southern  women — whose  souls  shine  not  only  with 
the  sweet  springs  of  all  gentle  and  modest  virtues,  but 
the  stronger  currents  of  will  and  resolution,  in  the 
cause  of  truth  and  justice,  which  disasters  are  unable 
to  lessen  or  obstacles  to  check.  Pointing  to  this  day 
— this  memorial  day — which  originated  in  their  pure 
minds,  and  to  Confederate- soldier  graves,  which  are 
decorated  by  their  pure  hands,  each  ceremony  con- 
nected with  which  bespeaks  admiration  of  the  deeds 
of  those  for  whose  sake  it  was  conceived  and  exe- 
cuted, as  well  as  sympathy  for  their  sufferings,  grief 
at  their  loss,  and  faith  in  their  principles,  and  in 
their  final  success,  they  can  proudly  say:  "The 
memories  of  our  dead  soldiers  are  dear  to  us,  and  we 
have  done,  and  will  continue  to  do,  our  duty  by 
them."  Ah!  the  women  of  the  South! — the  women 
of  the  South!     How  richly  do  they  deserve  to  be 


MEMOEIAL   DAY.  59 

loved  for  their  beauty  and  gentleness  and  purity,  to 
be  admired  for  their  heroism  and  strength  of  purpose, 
to  be  revered  for  their  self-sacrificing  devotion  to 
principle  !  AVhile  the  war  was  going  on,  they  forgot 
self, — they  buried  every  thought  of  self; — they  gave 
up  property,  ease,  and  all  the  pleasures  and  delights 
of  home,  around  which  clustered  the  tenderest  and 
fondest  associations,  and  without  which  life  was  a 
burden  to  them ;  cheerfully  and  without  a  murmur ; 
and  more,  they  gave  up  father,  brother,  husband  and 
son — ave,  even  o'arlanded  them  for  the  sacrifice — 
words  of  encouragement  only  passing  the  lips — faces 
serene  in  patriotic  resolve;  or  if,  perchance,  the 
serenity  was  ever  broken  by  a  tear  that  would  come, 
it  was  brightened  by  the  smiling  eye  from  which  it 
dropped,  at  a  moment  when  pangs  more  terrible  than 
those  of  death  itself  were  tearing  their  bosoms.  And 
when  the  long  struggle  was  over,  and  the  South  a 
ruin  and  a  desolation,  dismay  on  its  face  and  horror 
at  its  heart, — they,  tenderly  and  delicately  nurtured, 
— they,  whom  the  winds  of  heaven  had  not  been  per- 
mitted to  visit  too  roughly, — they  bared  their 
dimpled  arms,  took  the  jewels  from  their  rosy  fingers, 
to  do  singly  and  alone  what  scores  of  servants  had 
done  for  them  before,  with  a  courage  and  a  determi- 
nation which  put  to  shame,  and,  in  most  instances,  to 
flight  too,  the  despondency  and  gloom  which  clouded 
the  brows,  darkened  the  hopes,  and  paralyzed  the 
energies  of  those  upon  whose  brave  spirits  they  had 
hitherto  been  accustomed  almost  wholly  to  rely  for 


60  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

guidance  and  direction.  "  Look  not  mournfully  into 
the  past," — and  they  felt  and  spoke  and  acted  the 
sentiment  embraced  in  this  beautiful  and  truthful 
passage  from  Hyperion: — "Look  not  mournfully  into 
the  past;  it  comes  not  back  again.  Wisely  improve 
the  present;  it  is  thine.  Go  forth  to  meet  the 
shadowy  future  without  fear,  and  with  a  manly 
heart." 

Have  we,  Southern  men,  been  equally  as  honest 
and  faithful  in  our  labors  to  preserve  untarnished  the 
memories  of  our  fallen  braves?  Not  bv  dwelling:,  in 
loving  terms,  upon  their  valor ;  their  patient  en- 
durance of  suffering;  their  fidelit}^  to  duty;  their 
moderation  in  victory,  and  their  firmness  in  defeat. 
No!  For  these  are  known  and  acknowledged  from 
Maine  to  California — from  Iceland  to  Australia. 
The  remembrance  of  them,  even  were  their  history 
unwritten,  could  never  be  lost.  It  is  as  imperishable 
as  the  patriotic  principle  from  which  they  emanated, 
and  over  which  thev  exercise  a  controllino-  power. 
But  have  we  been  true  to,  and  outspoken  in,  the 
maintenance  of  the  justice  and  rightfulness  of  the 
"Lost  Cause?"  Alas  I  under  the  influence  of  selfish 
considerations — considerations  of  mere  personal  pro- 
motion and  profit — have  not  some  of  us  fallen  away 
from  the  faith  in  which  we  were  born  and  raised,  and 
admitted,  either  expressly  or  impliedly,  that  one  of 
the  great  objects  of  that  faith — the  right  of  secession 
— the  assertion  of  which  on  our  part  brought  on  the 
war — never  existed,  and  that  the  fruits  of  its  exercise 


MEMORIAL    DAY.  61 

were  wholly  pernicious  and  disastrous — in  short  that 
the  idea  originated  in  wrong,  and  that  the  blood 
poured  out  so  freely  to  maintain  it,  was  not  only 
needle^^sly  but  criminally  shed?  The  doctrine  of  se- 
cession is  dead !  Submitted  to  the  arbitrament  of  the 
sword,  the  decision  against  it  was  direct,  utter  and 
final.  But  the  fact  of  its  being  dead  to-day  does  not 
aroue  that  it  was  dead  before  such  decision  was  made. 
On  the  contrary,  that  it  was  alive — that  it  was  a  right 
of  the  states  reserved  by  them  as  a  remedy  for  federal 
wrongs  and  usurpations,  is  plain  from  the  very  na- 
ture and  tiieory  of  our  government,  the  history  of  its 
origin,  and  the  contemporaneous  testimony  of  many 
of  its  founders,  as  well  as  the  opinions  of  some  of  the 
ablest  jurists  this  country  has  produced: — and  such 
will  be  the  verdict  of  impartial  history!  For  us, 
therefore,  to  acknowledge  now  that  the  idea  which 
formed  so  prominent  a  part  of  our  political  education, 
and  upon  which  we  so  confidently  and  courageously 
acted,  was  wrong  and  the  prolific  mother  of  wrongs, 
or  to  tacitly  acquiesce  in  the  enunciation  of  such  a 
doo'ma,  would  be  to  sin  ao-ainst  light  and  knowledo-e, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  write  rebel  and  traitor  across 
our  foreheads,  and  upon  the  headstone  of  every  Con- 
federate soklier's  grave. 

And  have  the  results  of  the  war,  which  followed 
our  attempt  at  the  exercise  of  this  right,  been  wholly 
ruinous?  Have  its  fruits  been  altogether  bitter  and 
poisonous?  Has  it  indeed  ended  in  a  mere  waste  of 
patriotic  blood  and  hardly-earned  treasure?     It  is  to 


62  MEMORIAL   DAY. 

be  hoped  not.  And  are  there  not  grounds  for  such 
hope?  The  right  of  the  states  to  local  self-govern- 
ment,— to  preserve  which  right  secession  Avas  resorted 
to — may  have  been  lost  with  the  war,  which,  how- 
ever, in  the  light  of  recent  events,  hardly  seems 
probable;  it  certainly  would  have  been  lost,  and  for- 
ever lost,  without  the  war.  For  one  moment,  if  it  be 
possible,  let  us  forget  that  terrible  struggle,  and  all 
the  terrible  occurrences  since,  and  go  back  to  a  period 
immediately  preceding  them,  while  we  briefly  con- 
sider this  point.  The  election  in  this  country  of  a 
chief  magistrate  upon  a  basis  purely  sectional,  with 
the  other  branches  of  the  government  filled  upon  the 
same  basis,  a  result  which,  had  there  been  no  war, 
must  have  surely  followed,  would  have  placed  the 
rights  of  the  minority  section  of  the  states  at  the 
mercy  of  the  dominant  or  majority  section;  and  one 
has  read  the  history  of  the  world  to  little  purpose, 
and  has  but  a  superficial  knowledge  of  human  charac- 
acter,  who  does  not  know  that  this  power  would  have 
been  exercised  in  the  interest  of  the  latter,  or  major- 
ity section,  to  the  detriment  of  the  former,  or  minority 
section.  But,  as  this  could  not  have  been  done  with- 
out the  rights  of  all  the  states,  those  of  the  majority 
section,  as  well  as  the  others,  being  injuriously 
affected  by  it  in  the  end,  through  the  establishment 
of  precedents,  each  step  of  the  government  would 
have  been  most  cautiously  taken  and  guarded,  and 
every  requisite  preparation  made  for  the  security  of 
the  next  step,  until  the  march  to  absolute  power  on 


MEMORIAL   DAY.  63 

the  part  of  the  government  would  have  been  accom- 
plished; and  that  too,  so  naturally,  quietly  and 
gradually,  the  people  of  the  states  could  not  have 
been  aroused  to  the  nature  and  scope  of  the  move- 
ment, before  their  rights  were  gone  and  they  helpless 
and  in  chains.  But  the  war  came  and  passed  away! 
And  presuming  upon  the  passions  engendered  by  it 
among  the  people  of  the  controlling  or  majority  sec- 
tion, the  government,  by  a  long  and  desperate  leap, 
attained  what  it  would  otherwise  have  reached,  by 
soft  and  easy  gradations — surrounded  the  ballot-box 
with  its  soldiery — destroyed  and  built  up  state  gov- 
ernments at  will — thereby  not  only  shocking  the 
moral  sense  of  patriots  throughout  the  entire  Union, 
but  opening  their  eyes  at  once  and  widely  to  the 
perils  of  the  centralized  despotism  with  which  they 
were  threatened.  That  matchless  form  of  govern- 
ment bequeathed  to  us  by  our  fathers,  in  which  the 
rights  of  the  whole  are  made  consistent  with  those  of 
the  several  parts,  and  founded  upon  the  great  system 
of  popular  suffrage,  is  no  failure  in  this  country  yet! 
Already  have  the  people  fearlessly,  and  in  no  meas- 
ured terms,  proclaimed  that  the  right  of  local  self- 
government  not  simply  "may  be,''  but  shall  be, 
secured  to  the  states.  Truly,  truly  is  the  guiding 
hand  of  a  beneficent  and  all- wise  Providence  mani- 
fested in  each  one  of  the  bold  and  desperate  moves  of 
political  gamblers  and  conspirators  to  prevent  being 
made  to  work  out,  directly  and  surely,  the  re-estab- 
lishment  of  sound   constitutional   government   over 


64  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

every  portion  of  our  common  country.  Thank  God 
for  it  I  Thank  God,  the  night  is  at  last  passing  away 
— a  night  which  has  taken  up  no  small  part  of  the 
existence  of  this  country;  and  light  is  beginning  once 
more  to  paint  her  colors  of  purple  and  gold  upon  the 
eastern  horizon.  A  dreary  night,  especially  to  the 
South,  has  it  been — a  night  unrelieved  by  light  of 
moon  or  star,  and  horrid  with  thunders  and  tempests. 
AYearily,  wearily  have  patriots,  all  over  the  land, 
been  looking  for  the  darkness  to  end;  wearily — 
wearily — with  a  constantly  recurring,  and  a  deeper 
and  yet  deeper  disappointment.  Despair  had  well- 
nigh  seized  upon  their  anxious  souls,  when  the 
powerful  declaration  was  made  at  the  ballot-box,  by 
which  was  announced  "  the  coming  of  the  day."  The 
unmerited  sufferings  of  the  Southern  people,  during 
this  long  and  disastrous  night,  and  the  heroic  and  un- 
complaioing  fortitude  with  which  they  have  been 
supported,  no  tongue  can  tell — no  mind  conceive;  but, 
in  the  joy  of  the  approaching  deliverance,  while  they 
m.ay  not  be  able  to  forget  these  trials  (nor  indeed 
should  they  do  so,  for  by  means  of  them  have  sprung 
into  light  their  noblest  and  grandest  virtues),  and 
with  hearts  filled  with  love  for  a  constitutional  union, 
which  even  oppressions  in  its  name  could  not  crush, 
and  with  confidence  in  the  early  purification  of  every 
part  of  their  "Father's  House,"  they,  joining  hands 
with  their  conservative  brethren  of  the  North,  East 
and  West,  can  and  do,  fervently  and  sincerely,  unite, 
on  this,  the  first  memorial  day  of  the  country's  second 


MEMOEIAL    DAY.  65 

century,  in  the  glad  song  of  "Glory  to  God  in  the 
highest— peace  on  earth  and  good  will  toward  men," 
closing  with  the  triumphant  and  jubilant  refrain,  of 
*' Happy  is  the  nation  whose  God  is  the  Lord." 

And   when  this  much  longed  for  and  good  time 
shall  come  to  this  country, 

"Who  can  place 
A  limit  to  the  giant's  unchained  strength, 
Or  curb  his  swiftness  in  the  forward  race  ?" 

or,  to  change  the  figure,  who  or  what  will  have  power 
to  check  the  sturdy  youth  of  American  liberty  upon 
his  upward  path,  bearing  in  his  hands, 


'"Mid  snow  and  ice, 
The  banner  with  the  strange  device 

EXCELSIOB." 

Learning  a  lesson  from  his  late  experience  in  being 
so  nearly  lost  in  the  storm,  and  baried  beneath  the 
falling  avalanche, — w^ith  a  more  watchful  eye,  a 
stronger  heart  and  a  firmer  step, — he  will  slowly  but 
surely  mount  "  higher  and  higher"  the  steeps  before 
him.  Along  the  path  darkened  by  grim  Alpine 
woods,  and  roughened  by  sharp  Alpine  rocks,  higher 
and  higher! — across  yawning  chasms  and  black 
ravines  and  frosted  glaziers,  higher  and  higher! — 
over  ice-clad  slopes  and  towering  precipices,  and 
frowning  snow  drifts,  higher  and  higher ! — in  spite  of 
howling  blast,  and  rushing  avalanche,  and  roaring 
flood,  and  thickening  cloud,  and  blinding  lightning 
3^ 


66  MEMORIAL    DAY. 

and  crashing  tliunder,  higher  and  higher! — until  the 
very  crest  of  power  is  attained,  bathed  in  the  glad 
sunlight,  and  fanned  bj  the  glad  breezes  of  a  substan- 
tial and  abiding  prosperity.  Then, — oh!  then  shall 
this  prosperity,  based  as  it  will  be — based  as  it  must 
be — upon  the  rights  of  the  states,  unmutilated  and 
unimpaired — rights,  for  which  Confederate  soldiers 
struggled  and  died, — make  the  memories  of  these 
heroes  shine  with  a  brightness  and  beauty  scarcely 
less  than  supernal. 


RAxA'DOM  RECOLLECTIONS. 


RANDOM  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  THE 
ALABAMA  LEGISLATURE, 

1857-8,  and  1859-60. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  que^^tion  asked  by  my  grarer  readers,  "  To  what  purpose  is 
all  this — how  is  the  world  to  be  made  wiser  by  this  talk?"  Alas!  is  there  not  wis- 
dom enough  extant  for  the  instruction  of  the  world?  And  if  not,  are  there  not 
thousands  of  able  pens  laboring  for  its  improvement?  It  is  so  much  jJleasanter  to 
please  than  to  instruct — to  play  the  companion  rather  than  the  preceptor. 

What  after  all  is  the  mite  of  wisdom  that  I  could  throw  into  the  mass  of  knowl- 
edge; or  how  am  I  sure  that  my  sagest  deductions  may  be  safe  giiides  for  the 
opinions  of  others?  But  in  writing  to  amuse,  if  I  fail,  the  only  evil  is  in  my  own 
disappointment.  If,  however,  I  can  by  any  luckj'^  chance,  in  these  daj's  of  evil,  rub 
one  wrinkle  from  the  brow  of  care,  or  beguile  the  heavy  heart  of  one  moment  of 
sorrow;  if  I  can  now  and  then  penetrate  through  the  gathering  film  of  misan- 
thropy, prompt  a  benevulent  view  of  human  nature,  and  make  my  reader  more  in 
good  humor  with  his  fellow  beings  and  himself,  surely,  surely,  I  shall  not  have 

written  entirely  in  vain. 

Washington  Irving. 

The  object  of  the  present  writing  is,  in  the  main, 
to  call  fresh  attention  to  certain  of  the  3'oung  and 
gifted  dead  of  the  State,  who  figured  somewhat  prom- 
inently in  her  councils  in  the  few  years  just  preceding 
the  war,  the  memory  of  whose  services,  virtues  and 
sacrifices  she  should  not  willingly  let  die. 

It  may  be  well  to  say  here  that  in  these  sketches, 
where  portions  of  speeches  of  members  are  given,  the 
exact  W' ords  in  every  instance,  of  course,  are  not  used 


68  EAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

— tliat  being  impossible  from  mere  recollection.  No 
injustice  in  tins  respect,  liowever,  lias  been  done  any 
one — words  having  never  been  attributed  to  a  party 
with  any  other  view  than  to  set  forth  stronglv  some 
peculiar  characteristic,  that  all  might  be  able  to  judge 
truly  of  him — and  this  has  only  been  done  when  ab- 
solutely necessary  for  such  purpose. 

MOXTGOMERY. 

Ab!  those  days  of  1857-8  and  1859-60!  They 
were  golden  days!  During  a  large  portion  of  the 
time  Montgomery  was  filled  A\dth  visitors.  Much  of 
the  intellect  and  chivalr}^  of  the  State  was  there  con- 
gregated; and  the  fair  daughters  of  the  capital,  joined 
Avith  those  from  Mobile  and  other  points,  formed 
together  a  combination  of  sweetness,  grace  and  love- 
liness rarely  to  be  met  with  even  in  this  "Land  of  the 
beautiful."  Always  pleasant  and  gay  and  bright, 
Montgomery  never  had  before  displayed  these  charm- 
ing characteristics  so  strongly — so  fully.  The 
residences  of  its  enterprising  citizens,  gemming,  amid 
rich  clusters  of  encircling  greenery,  its  sunny  slopes 
and  the  margins  of  its  level  thoroughfares,  and  crown- 
ing its  picturesque  eminences,  were  seats  of  a  noble 
hospitality — a  hospitality  so  refined,  so  elegant,  and 
withal  so  extensive,  that  the  recollection  of  it  will 
ever  be  a  brightness  to  the  thousand  and  one  of  its 
partakers  in  every  quarter  of  the  State. 

The  first  matter  of  much  interest  brouoht  before  the 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS.  69 

Legislature  of  '57-8  bad  reference  to  the  election  of 
United  States  Senator.  Hon.  C.  C.  Clay's  term  of 
office  had  not  expired,  but  would  do  so  before  the 
next  session;  as,  however,  between  such  expiration 
and  such  subsequent  session  there  would  not  be  a 
reofular  meetins;  of  ConoTess,  it  was  urged  that  no 
necessity  existed  for  holding  the  election  at  that  time. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  was  argued  that  the  times  Avere 
stormy;  that  clouds,  threatening  destruction  to  the 
best  interests  of  the  South,  were  visible  in  the  politi- 
cal heavens;  that  there  might  be  a  called  session  of 
the  federal  legislature,  when,  should  the  election  be 
postponed,  the  State  could  have  but  one  Senator;  and 
that  sound  policy  consequently  dictated  that  Mr. 
Clay's  successor  should  be  chosen  at  once.  A  good 
deal  of  feeling,  none,  however,  of  an  acrimonious 
character,  was  engendered.  It  may  be  remarked  also 
— par  parenthese — it  was  tolerably  evident  that  the 
election,  if  held  then,  would  result  in  the  choice  of 
Mr.  Clay  for  another  term.  When  the  question  came 
up  in  the  Senate,  the  friends  of  election  put  forward 

EDWARD    C.   BULLOCK 

as  their  champion  speaker.  It  was  his  first  appear- 
ance in  such  a  role  before  the  Legislature.  As  a 
brilliant  and  fearless  writer  and  publicist,  he  was 
known  all  over  the  State;  and  vague  rumors  of  his 
being  gifted  with  great  powders  of  oratory,  which  he 
had  hitherto  made  but  little  use  of,  were  also  afloat. 


70  RAXDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS. 

The  Senate  chamber  was  crowded.  The  question 
was  not  one  of  sufficient  scope  to  bring  out  the  full 
strength  of  a  speaker;  jet  his  efforts  fully  met  the 
high-raised  expectations  of  his  intelligent  auditory, 
who  hstened  with  delighted  and  breathless  attention 
to  arguments  decidedly  and  pointedly  put,  enforced 
by  rare  aptness  and  beaut}^  of  illustration,  and  the 
whole  rendered  doubly  effective  by  great  earnestness 
of  manner,  and  a  singularly  musical  voice. 

Bullock  was  a  remarkable  man.  Manj^  persons, 
upon  meeting  him  for  the  first  time,  say  at  the  festive 
board,  and  listening  to  his  conversation,  incessant  in 
its  limpid  flow  and  flashing  and  sparkling  all  over  as 
it  rippled  along,  no  doubt  thought  him  superficial. 
A  greater  mistake  could  not  well  have  been  made. 
He  was  exactly  the  reverse.  In  truth  he  was  the 
Halifax  of  Alabama,  without  that  distinguished 
statesman's  disposition  to  doubt  and  trim.  He  was  a 
many-sided  man ;  and  all  the  sides  had  breadth  and 
strength  as  well  as  brightness.  He  would  have  ac- 
quitted himself  with  credit  and  honor  in  any  position 
in  which  he  might  have  been  placed.  It  is  no  exag- 
geration to  say  that  he  would  have  made  a  good 
judge,  a  good  governor,  a  good  United  States  Senator 
— when  to  have  been  such  was  an  honor — and  a  good 
diplomatist.  As  either  of  these  he  would  have  been 
great — aye,  more — he  would  have  been  excellent. 

In  the  House  the  proceedin9:s  with  reo-ard  to  the 
propriety  of  holding  the  election  were  somewhat  dif- 
ferent from  those  had  in  the  Senate.     Two   young 


RANDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS.  71 

members,  one  from  each  extreme  of  the  State,  perhaps 
others,  who  favored  the  measure,  were  desirous  of 
speaking;  but  upon  a  consuhation  among  them,  it 
was  decided  that,  as  they  were  certainly  in  the  ma- 
jority, no  talking  on  their  part  was  necessary ;  that 
the  fires  of  the  opposition,  lacking  the  fuel  which 
could  only  be  supplied  by  discussion,  would  speedily 
be  extinguished,  and  the  desired  vote  upon  the  ques- 
tion obtained.  The  result  proved  the  wisdom  of  the 
pohcy  adopted.  Two  or  three  opposition  speeches 
were  made,  after  each  of  which  there  was  a  "pause 
for  a  reply."     One  of  these  speeches  was  made  by 

THOMAS   H.   HOBBS. 

"None  knew  him  but  to  love  him"  was  essentially 
true  of  Hobbs.  As  mildly  mannered  and  as  gentle 
hearted  as  a  Avoman,  yet  decided  in  his  views,  and 
firm  in  their  maintenance — an  elegant  gentleman,  a 
scholar  and  a  Christian — he  had,  although  young  in 
years,  already  made  for  himself,  throughout  the  State, 
an  enviable  reputation  which  was  daily  brightening. 

His  speech  was  elaborate,  and  presented  the  argu- 
ments of  the  opposition  fully  and  forcibly.  He  sat 
down.  No  response!  He  arose  again,  and  after 
briefly  running  over  the  arguments  embraced  in  his 
previous  remarks,  called  most  urgently  u.pon  the 
friends  of  the  measure  to  say  something  in  its  behalf. 
No  answer!  The  question  was  about  to  be  put, 
when  he  sprang  to  his  feet,   and,   glancing  quickly 


72  EAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

around  the  hall,  he  somewhat  excitedly,  albeit  no  man 
had  better  control  of  himself,  desired  to  know  if  gen- 
tlemen were  going  to  sit  quietly  and  tamely  in  their 
seats,  while  the  impolicy  of  their  proposed  action  was 
being  shown,  without  some  attempt  to  defend  them- 
selves. His  remarks  were  ingenious,  and  well  calcu- 
lated to  bring  about  the  object  he  had  in  view ;  but 
they  failed.  At  their  conclusion,  although  it  could 
be  perceived  that  several  of  those  to  whom  they  were 
directed,  burned  to  take  the  floor,  an  ominous  silence 
prevailed !     Hobbs  then  gave  up  in  despair. 


There  were  many  able  men  in  the  Legislature, 
during  the  times  here  treated  of.  A  few — only  a 
few,  however — alhed  themselves  with  the  Eadicals 
since  the  war,  and  having  given  that  party  all  of  its 
brains  in  Alabama,  have  done  the  poor  old  State  an 
immense  deal  of  injury.  There  were  also  some  who 
fell  within  the  interesting  class  popularly  termed 
characters. 

THE   PARLIAMENTARIAN 

was  one  of  these.  At  times  he  offered  much  amuse- 
ment to  his  confreres.  He  was  looked  upon  as  one 
of  the  clever  boys  of  the  House.  Everybody  liked 
him  and  enjoyed  his  youthful  eccentricities.  With  a 
face  and  manner  expressive,  in  a  high  degree,  of  a 
frolicsome  disposition,  it  was  no  easy  matter,  in  some 


EANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS.  73 

of  liis  legislative  manoeuvres,  to  decide  when  lie  was 
in  earnest.  Some  of  these  performances  had  very 
strongly  the  poetic  merit  of  "abruptness."  Now  and 
then  he  startled  the  House  by  suddenly  jumping  to 
his  feet,  and  taking  issue  with  the  chair  upon  some 
point  of  its  rulings  so  clearly  correct  as  not  to  admit 
of  a  doubt,  and  proceed  to  give  it — the  House,  I  mean 
— the  benefit  of  about  a  page  and  a  half  of  Jefierson's 
Manual,  which,  he  contended,  bore  directly  upon  the 
point  at  issue,  and  made  good  his  objection.  No  one, 
however,  could  see  it,  as  he  did,  for,  despite  the  in- 
genuity of  his  reasoning,  backed  by  the  authority  of 
Mr.  Jefterson,  the  Speaker  always  stupidly  insisted 
upon  his  decision;  and,  upon  the  appeal,  which  in- 
stantly followed,  the  House  as  stupidly  always  sus- 
tained him — invariably  with  but  a  single  "not 
content."     Mazeppa  says: 

"One  refusal's  uo  rebuff." 

This  parliamentary  'dissenter"  went  beyond  the  old 
Hetman  of  the  Cossacks.  He  did  not  think  a  man 
ought  to  be  cast  down  bv  many  refusals.  Althouoh 
never  successful  in  these  attempts  upon  the  chair,  he 
was  never  discomfitted,  but  came  back  again  to  the 
charge,  when  the  spirit  moved  him,  with  the  same 
liveliness  and  vigor  that  he  manifested  in  the  be^im- 


nmg. 


THE    POOR    MAX  S    FRIEND 


was  another.     He  was  a  tall,  angular  gentleman,  from 
one  of  the  lower  counties — kind  hearted  and  sensible. 

4: 


7-i  EAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

He  was  an  efficient  member,  being  always  at  liis  post, 
and  esjDeciallj  attentive  to  tlie  wants  of  his  immediate 
constituents.  He  had  his  hobby,  which  was  a  good 
one,  when  not  pushed  to  an  extreme :  Economy  in  the 
management  of  State  affairs.  He  rode  it  rather 
heavily  at  times,  but  not  quite  so  much  so  as  one  or 
two  others  upon  the  floor,  who  were  similarly 
mounted. 

He  claimed  also  to  be,  par  excellence^  the  represen- 
tative of  the  bone  and  sinew  of  Alabama.  And  he 
showed,  by  all  his  actions,  that  the  claim  was  well 
founded.  It  was  evidently  not  made  for  effect,  but 
was  expressive  of  his  true  and  honest  feelings » 
"When  he  took  any  decidedly  active  part  in  the  advo- 
cacy of  a  bill,  it  was  because  it  was  beneficial  to  the 
interests  of  the  poor  of  Alabama;  and  vice-versa. 
Those  interests  were  his  main  subject  of  comment  in 
making  any  speech — so  much  so,  that  sometimes^ 
when  taken  in  connection  with  the  character  of  the 
measure  under  consideration,  his  remarks  appeared 
rather  ludicrous.  This  propensity  of  the  honest  old 
member  gave  rise  to  the  foUoAving  hon  mot.  It 
should  be  premised  that  he  had  but  one  eye.  In- 
mock  session  one  day  at  the  capitol,  the  annexed  res- 
olution was  introduced: 

^^Hesolved,  That  the  gentleman  from  C.  has  an  eye  single  to  the 
interests  of  the  poor  of  Alabama." 

He  readily  forgave  the  one-half  of  the  double  en- 


EAXDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  /O 

tendre^  referring  as  it  did  to  a  bodily  infirmity,  for  tlie 
compliment  embraced  in  the  other. 

THE    FANCY   TALKING    MEMBER 

was  still  another.  He  was  one  of  the  members  of  the 
House  from  L.,  and  was  dubbed  the  "Fancy  Talker"  by 
a  newspaper  correspondent.  And  not  a  few  speeches 
did  he  make  ;  but  justice  requires  it  to  be  added,  they 
were  generally  short,  and  sometimes  sprightly  and 
pointed.  The  great  drawback,  however,  to  the  good 
ones  was,  that  like  the  best  of  G.  P.  R.  James'  novels, 
they  were  provided  by  the  author  with  too  much 
indifferent  company.  He  was  not  wanting  in  intelli- 
gence, and  his  parts  were  good  ;  but  a  man  has  to  be 
something  remarkable  to  talk  much  and  not  talk 
much  nonsense. 

A  bill  was  introduced  by  Hobbs  to  establish,  at 
some  eligible  point  in  the  State,  an  asj^lum  for  the 
blind.  He  supported  it  by  a  few  characteristic  re- 
marks, which  were  followed  by  something  more  elab- 
orate from  the  talking  member.  The  body  of  the 
speech  was  rather  seemly ;  but  it  was  finished  off — 
that  magnificent  humbug  of  Doesticks,  Niagara  Falls, 
supplying  the  material — with  a  flourishing  tail  in  the 
wav  of  peroration,  like  unto  the  following : 

"Look,  Mr.  Speaker,  at  Niagara  Falls!  See  the 
castellated  rocks  piled  so  majestically  on  either  hand 
— the  stately  motion  of  the  heav}^  current  above — its 
arrowy  swiftness  in  making  the  terrible  leap — the 
waving,  sparkling  lines  of  light  shooting  from  the  vast 


76  RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS. 

abyss  far  upward  upon  the  surface  of  the  tumbling 
waters — the  seething  and  surging  vortex  below,  from 
which  issue,  like  the  multitudinous  bowlings  of  a  host 
of  imprisoned  demons,  a  mighty  and  thunderous  roar, 
and  above  which  roll,  in  ever  shifting  folds,  clouds  of 
spray,  sullen  and  sombre  in  shadow,  but  gleaming  in 
the  light  with  a  'soft,  filmy  transparency  resembling 
the  finest  veil  of  silver  gauze'  ;  and  j^ou  are  ready  to 
exclaim,  sir,  with  every  other  beholder,  a  grand  pic- 
ture !  But,  sir,  that  picture  in  the  physical  world  of 
America  is  not  grander  than  are,  among  men,  the  out- 
croppings  of  public  sympathy  and  charity  evidenced 
by  the  building  and  endowment,  by  government,  of 
such  institutions  as  the  one  under  consideration." 

At  a  dining  given  the  same  day,  at  the  residence  of 
one  of  the  first  citizens  of  Montgomery — the  son  of  a 
gentleman  who  had  most  worthily  filled  almost  every 
office  within  the  gift  of  the  State — while  the  guests 
were  seated  around  the  table,  laughing,  talking,  and 
sipping  their  wine,  one  of  them  suddenly  arose,  not, 
as  he  said — replying  to  the  enquiring  and  expectant 
looks  with  which  his  action  was  greeted — to  make  a 
speech,  for,  as  all  were  aware,  he  held  postprandial 
speeches  a  bore,  but  simply  to  propound  a  weighty 
interrogatory  to  his  friend,  the  junior  member  from 
M.  He  desired  to  ask  how  the  gentleman  from  L. 
managed  to  get  all  that  big  talk  about  Xiagara  Falls  in 
with  remarks  upon  a  Blind  School  bill  ?  "  The  answer 
is  easy,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  was  in  the  highest  de- 
gree appropriate.  There  is  an  intimate  connection, 
you  know,  between  a  cataract  and  blindness." 


KAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS.  77 

Several  other  so-called  characters  were  to  be  found 
in  the  Legislatui-e,  two  or  three  of  whom  will  be 
noticed  hereafter. 

The  bill  of  Jones,  of  Mobile,  "More  effectually  to 
prevent  the  banks  of  other  States  from  carrying  on 
the  business  of  banking  in  this  State,"  was  the  special 
order  for  a  certain  hour  in  the  House,  and 

THOMAS    E.    IRBY, 

of  Dallas,  was  entitled  to  the  floor.  Slowly,  and  dis- 
tinctly, and  with  much  gravity,  he  opened  his  speech. 
"Mr.  Speaker  :  This  measure  is  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  weighty,  that  has  engaged  the  attention  of 
the  people  of  this  State  for  the  last  half  century ;  and 
I  trust,  sir,  that  I,  to-day,  shall  be  able  to  treat  it  in  a 
manner  befitting  its  importance,  and  the  dignity  of 
this  body."  Here  he  stopped.  He  made  an  efibrt  to 
proceed  ;  but  he  hesitated,  blundered,  and  finally  broke 
down.  With  a  broad  smile  mantling  his  jovial  face, 
he  said:  "This  is  my  first  attempt,  Mr.  Speaker,  to 
make  a  prepared  speech — one  cut  and  dried — and  I 
reckon  it  ought  to  be  my  last."  He  then  took  his 
seat,  unabashed,  and  in  great  good  humor. 

No !  Irby  could  not  make  a  set  speech ;  but  he 
was  quick  and  ready  in  debate,  and,  in  an  oiF-hand 
effort,  he  always  made  good  and  decided  "  hits."  When 
addressing  the  House,  his  round,  rosy  face,  shining~ 
like  the  sun,  around  which  waved  masses  of  fiery  red 
hair,  joined  with  his  laughter-loving  voice,  diffused  a 
geniality  and  warmth  through  tbe  minds  and  hearts 


78  EAXDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS. 

of  all  about  liim,  and  tlius  prepared  them  to  give  a 
kind  consideration  to  his  generally  well  digested  views, 
and  to  regard  with  favor  his  many  sound  and  practical 
suo^o-estions. 

When  the  question  is  asked  now  in  Alabama — 
where  is  the  man,  who  started  upon  his  career  for 
State  honors,  under  such  flattering  auspices,  some  fif- 
teen or  eighteen  years  ago  ? — the  reply  commonly  is, 
— He  died  upon  the  field.  Such  was  the  fate  of  Irby. 
He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  in  Virginia,  where 
fiell  so  many  of  Alabama's  best  and  bravest ;  and 
"tears,  big  tears"  bedewed  many  a  manly  face  at  his 
death.     He  was  one  of  "Freedom's  champions,"  and 

—"He  had  kept 
The  whiteness  of  his  soul,  aud  thus  men  o'er  hiui  wept." 

When  Irby  sat  down  in  the  discussion  upon  the  bill 
referred  to, 

STEPHEX   F.    HALE, 

of  Greene,  arose.  He  was  rather  young-faced,  but 
gray-headed.  A  broad,  sort  of  Scotch  accent,  made 
his  voice  somewhat  disagreeable.  His  remarks,  how- 
ever, were  generally  so  much  to  the  point,  and  so 
lucid  and  close  in  argument,  that  one  did  not  long  no- 
tice this  defect  of  utterance.  He  was  a  model  legis- 
lator, and  attended  to  the  business  of  the  .State  co7i 
amore.  He  was  a  vigorous-minded  man,  and  a  fine 
lawyer.  A  member  of  the  Judiciary  Committee,  he 
studied  every  bill  referred  to  that  committee  with  all 
the  care  and  strictness  that  he  did  his  briefs.     It  was 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS.  79 

the  common  talk  among  the  younger  members  asso- 
ciated with  him,  that  it  was  unnecessary  for  them  to 
look  into  and  investigate  such  measures,  as  Hale  would 
do  it  thoroughly  ;  and  being  conversant  with  the  con- 
stitution, statutes  and  supreme  court  decisions  of  the 
State,  he  would  come  to  the  committee  room  prepared 
to  explain  every  point  that  might  arise. 

He  was  a  man  of  generous  nature  ;  but  he  never 
allowed  his  warm-heartedness,  either  in  committee  or 
the  House,  to  warp  his  judgment;  he  ever  came 
to  his  work  coolly,  dispassionately,  and  with  an  eye 
directed  solely  to  the  good  of  the  people. 

Like  his  neighbor  and  friend,  Irby,  Hale  lost  his 
life  upon  one  of  the  bloody  battle-fields  of  Virginia, 
while  gallantly  leading  his  regiment.  He  is  missed 
in  the  JState. 

JAMES    S.   WILLIAMSOX, 

of  Lowndes,  also  took  part  in  this  discussion,  as  he 
did  in  almost  all  discussions  of  any  length  or  impor- 
tance during  the  session.  He  was  a  plain  farmer,  with 
an  education  somewhat  limited,  a  vigorous  mind,  and 
a  high  and  fearless  spirit.  He  informed  himself  well 
with  regard  to  every  matter  presented  to  the  legisla- 
ture for  consideration.  His  voice,  though  shrill,  w^as 
not  unpleasing,— his  utterance  rapid,— and  his  action 
energetic.  The  power  and  effectiveness  of  his  speeches, 
too, were  considerably  increased  by  a  striking  person,— 
tall  and  well-proportioned,  and  a  ruddy  face,  showing 
a  "nose  hke  the  beak  of  an  eagle,  and  an  eye  rivaUing 


80  EAXDOXI    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

that  of  an  eagle  in  brightness."  He  was  always  ready 
to  meet,  and  shiver  a  lance  with  any  knight  of  debate  ; 
and  however  dexterous  his  antagonist  might  be  in  the 
use  of  his  weapon,  Williamson  either  victoriously  held 
the  field,  or  left  it  with  honor.  He  was  killed,  with 
his  sword  flashing  above  his  head,  and  his  clarion-like 
cheer  encouraging  his  men,  as  he  led  them  in  a  furious 
charge  upon  the  enemy's  breastworks  at  Frazier's 
Farm. 

ROBERT    D.   HUCKABEE 

was  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in  the  House.  Althouo^h 
chronically  afflicted, — with  but  "poor  health" for  years 
— from  the  sufterings  of  which  he  has  been  at  last 
forever  released — he  never  seemed  to  fail  in  spirits  or 
good  temper.  His  disposition  was  naturally  sweet, 
and  although  sorely  tried,  it  ever  remained  so.  In  all 
his  acts  as  legislator,  he  displayed  modesty,  right  feel- 
ing and  sense ;  and  his  work  was  unobtrusively,  yet 
effectually  done. 

An  incident,  in  which  he  figured  as  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal actors,  while  a  member,  ought  not  to  be  forgot- 
ten. He  brought  with  him  to  Montgomery,  a  body 
servant,  named  Nathan — an  African  with  all  the  lines 
of  a  genuine  full-blood — retreating  forehead,  flat  nose, 
thick,  protruding  lips  that  really  "blossomed  as  the 
rose,"  long  heels,  and  hair  that  kinked  so  closely  that 
both  ends  appeared  attached  to  his  head.  Nathan 
loved  whiskey ;  and  now  and  then  he  imbibed  rather 
extensively.     On  these  occasions  he  was  as  loathsome 


RAI>iDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  81 

as  useless ;  and  lie  was  both  to  perfection.  After  try- 
ing various  means  ineffectually  to  break  him  of  the 
vice,  Huckabee,  as  a  sort  of  dernier  resort^  threatened 
him  with  freedom,  on  its  next  occurrence.  Nathan, 
like  Ritchie  Moniplies,  "kenning  when  he  had  a  gude 
master,"  if  the  other  "did  not  ken  when  he  had  a 
gude  servant,"  determined  that  "the  deil  should  be  in 
his  feet  gin  he  left  him,"  and  proceeded  to  keep  him- 
self right  side  up  with  care,  making  no  false  step  for 
several  weeks.  But  alas !  one  evening^  he  was  found 
by  his  master,  upon  returning  to  the  hotel  from  the 
Capitol,  drunker  than  ever.  When  he  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  his  spree,  he  was  called  up,  not  for  trial 
— that  was  unnecessary — but  for  sentence  and  execu- 
tion. By  Huckabee  a  great  parade  was  made ;  friends 
to  act  as  witnesses  were  sent  for — pen,  ink  and  paper 
were  provided,  and  duly  set  out  on  the  table — while 
he,  taking  a  position  behind  it,  sat  rigidly  mute,  with 
an  expression  grave,  severe,  even  funereal.  The  de- 
linquent was  heavily  impressed ;  he  stood  upon  one 
leg,  then  upon  the  other,  and  swallowed  as  if  there 
was  a  huge  hill  in  his  throat,  which,  like  Banquo's 
ghost,  "would  not  down."  When  all  was  prepared, 
the  apparently  inexorable  judge  slowly  arose,  w^ith  a 
sheet  of  paper  and  pen  in  his  hands,  and  said  :  "I  told 
you,  Nathan,  some  time  ago,  if  you  ever  got  drunk 
again,  I  should  turn  you  loose.  Well,  you  have  done 
so  ;  and  now  I  have  called  in  these  gentlemen  to  wit- 
ness the  free  paper  here  prepared  for  you.  You  can 
take  it ;  go  and  shift  for  yourself." 


82  RAXDO:S[    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

Here  Nathan's  tongue  was  untied.  He  begged, 
prayed,  and  besought  his  master  not  to  set  him  free — 
not  to  drive  him  off — not  to  ruin  him !  He  implored 
him,  in  an  ecstacj  of  fear,  just  to  try  him  once  more, 
and  he  promised,  with  an  earnestness  indicative  of  the 
fixedness  of  his  purpose,  to  let  whiskey  alone  forever. 
His  manner  and  words  brought  to  mind  vividly  the 
energetic,  frantic,  agonizing  appeal  of  Morris  to  Helen 
McGregor  for  life. 


Some  important  measure  was  before  the  House,  the 
object  of  which  met  the  approbation  of  the  members 
generally.  There  was  opposition,  however,  to  some 
of  the  details  of  the  bill, — and  a  motion  was  made  to 
refer  it  to  the  proper  committee,  that  these  defects 
might  be  remedied.  The  friends  of  the  measure  un- 
dertook to  suspend  the  rules,  and  pass  it  at  once,  and 
just  as  it  was.  When  the  effort  was  made,  a  new 
member  suddenly  arose, — the  silver  tones  of  whose 
voice  immediately  riveted  attention, — and  said:  "I 
approve  of  the  object  sought  to  be  attained  by  this 
bill ;  but  I  do  think  certain  of  its  provisions  ought  to 
be  modified.  The  usual  reference  to  a  committee,  that 
this  end  may  be  accomplished,  is  asked  by  the  few 
who  agree  with  me.  The  majority  are  disposed  to 
deny  us  this  right,  and  are  striving  to  put  this  meas- 
ure through  with  a  haste  which  smacks  of  indecency. 
Now,  sir,"  exclaimed  he  in  a  voice  as  clear  and  as 
ringing  as  a  trumpet-call,  "we  demand  this  reference; 


RAXDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  83 

and  we  hereby  warn  the  majority  that  if  they  attempt 
thus  to  'dragoon'  us  into  measures,  to  ride  over  us 
'booted  and  spurred,'  we  will  exhaust  every  constitu- 
tional right,  and  every  parliamentary  manoeuvre,  to 
defeat  the  bill."  He  thereupon  proceeded  to  make  a 
speech  against  certain  features  of  the  bill,  which  for 
eloquence  and  power  was  seldom  surpassed  in  a  legis- 
lative assembly.     This  was  the  first  speech  made  by 

JAMES   B.    MARTIX, 

of  Talladega,  before  the  Alabama  Legislature. 

Col.  Martin  was  killed  at  Dranesville,  Virginia,  in 
the  thirty-sixth  year  of  his  age.  He  Avas  an  humble 
christian,  an  affectionate  friend,  an  honest  man,  an  able 
lawyer,  and  a  true  soldier.  With  him,  as  A\dth  his 
great  commander,  duty  was  a  guiding  star — one  that 
was  never  lost  sight  of ; — and  in  the  shining  but  rug- 
ged path  marked  out  by  it,  he  was  never  known 
to  falter  or  waver.  The  truth  of  this  statement  was 
made  conspicuously  manifest  in  the  last  act  of  his  life. 
He  had  been  elected  Judge  of  the  District  in  which  he 
resided,  and  had  obtained  leave  of  absence  from  the 
army  to  hold  his  courts.  He  postponed  his  departure 
to  take  part  with  his  regiment  in  the  expected  engage- 
ment. It  is  said  tliat  the  shadows  of  coming^  death 
rested  upon  his  spirit,  and  that  to  a  comrade,  who 
found  him  upon  his  knees  before  the  battle  began,  he 
expressed  the  settled  conviction  that  the  last  day  of 
his  life  had  dawned ;  and  he  was  prepared  for  it.    The 


84  RAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

death  that  he  looked  for  found  him  where  duty  placed 
him. 

"Yon  path  of  greensTvard 
Winds  ronnd  by  sparrj"  grot  and  gay  pavilion  ; 
There  is  no  flint  to  gaU  thy  tender  foot, 
There's  ready  shelter  from  each  breeze  or  shower. 
But  Duty  guides  not  that  way— see  her  stand. 
With  wand  entwined  with  amaranth,  near  yon  cliff  ; 
Oft,  where  she  leads,  thy  blood  must  mark  thy  footsteps ; 
Oft,  where  she  leads,  thy  head  must  bear  the  storm, 
And  thy  shrunk  form  endure  heat,  cold,  and  hunger  ; 
But  she  will  guide  thee  up  to  noble  heights. 
Which  he  who  gains  seems  native  of  the  sky, 
While  earthly  things  lie  stretehed  beneath  his  feet, 
Diminished,  shrunk,  and  valueless." 

These  are  noble  lines.  AYould  that  the  truths  gar- 
nered in  them  could  find  the  same  lodgment  in  the 
breasts  of  all  young  men  that  they  found  in  that  of 
the  subject  of  this  sketch.  The  tender  and  graceful 
stanza  so  often  quoted,  is  so  singularly  appropriate 
when  applied  to  Colonel  Martin,  that  I  cannot  refrain 
from  using  it  here  in  the  way  of  a  farewell : 

"Ah!  soldier,  to  your  honored  rest, 
Your  truth  and  valor  bearing  ; 
The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

THE   XICE    MEMBER. 

One  of  the  members  of  the  House,  a  tall  and  slender 
gentleman,  always  clad  in  habiliments  scrupulously 
exact  and  elegant,  and  guiltless  of  wrinkles,  had,  in 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  85 

-svalking — unconsciously,  perhaps — a  sort  of  Arling- 
tonian  strut.  The  Colonel — let  him  have  that  title  for 
the  nonce — was  a  fine  make-up  for  a  joker ;  and,  of 
course,  Avhen  this  is  the  case,  the  joker  is  always  close 
by.  In  this  instance  he  appeared  in  the  person  of  a 
certain  candidate  for  office  before  the  Lesislature.  His 
complexion  was  adust,  his  features  saturnine,  his  voice 
dry,  and  his  deportment,  when  not  engaged  in  a  frolic, 
grave.  With  nothing  of  the  appearance,  he  was  "a 
fellow  of  infinite  jest."  To  trump  up  a  story  on  some 
friend,  so  arranged  as  to  give  it  the  requisite  vraisem- 
blance^  and  made  out  of  all  that  ridiculous  stuff,  which, 
as  Macaulay  has  somewhere  said,  if  founded  in  fact, 
the  man  to  whom  it  refers  would  desire  forever  buried 
out  of  sight,  and  the  publicity  of  which  would  tend 
to  make  him  hang  himself,  was  his  daily  business,  and 
to  retail  it  to  a  choice  knot  of  congenial  and  apprecia- 
tive spirits,  with  the  party  to  be  victimized  present, 
the  acme  of  his  earthly  felicity. 

But  to  the  tale  upon  the  Colonel :  Seizing  his  op- 
portunity, when  the  crowd,  and  "all  things  else  were 
conforming,"  the  joker  remarked  that  he  "chanced  to 
be  a  witness  of  a  somewhat  extraordinary  incident, 
which  he  wished  then  and  there  to  give  all  the  benefit 
of.  A  bkift'  old  countryman,  a  sort  of  rougher  look- 
ing Dandie  Dinrnont,  clothed  in  kersey,  and  booted 
in  cowhide  to  his  knees,  with  a '  huge  leather-bound 
wagon  whip  under  his  arm,  was  standing  the  day  be- 
fore at  one  of  the  corners  of  Main  street,  when  the 
Colonel  passed  by  on  his  way  to  the  Capitol.     The  old 


86  EANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

fellow  watched  him  closely,  and  with  great  apparent 
interest,  as  he  (the  Colonel  I  mean)  paced  deliberately 
and  majestically  along.  Stronger  and  stronger  became 
this  gaze — deeper  and  deeper  became  this  seeming 
interest,  as  the  elegant  and  high-headed  figure  slowly 
receded ;  when,  all  at  once,  Dandie  drew  himself  up 
quickly,  lashed  out  wdth  his  wdiip  so  vigorously  that 
it  sounded  like  a  pistol  shot, — evincive  of  some  sud- 
den and  desperate  resolution, — and  set  oft'  with  rapid 
and  lengthy  strides  up  the  street.  He  soon  over- 
hauled the  gentleman,  and  brought  him  to  a  stand  by 
touching  him  smartly  on  the  shoulder." 

•'What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir?"  said  the  Colonel, 
turning  around,  and  slightly  unstiffening. 

"Can  I  stay  all  night  in  Montgomery?"  was  the 
questioning  reply. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish,"  said  the  astonished  Col- 
onel, rather  blandly ;  but  immediately  after,  as  the 
impudence  of  the  question  flashed  across  his  mind,  he 
energetically  blurted  out,  "what  in  the  deuce  do  you 
mean,  sir  ?" 

"No  harm,  stranger — no  harm  intended,  I  assure 
you,"  answered  Dandie,  mildly  and  simply.  "  I  have 
never  been  here  before,  and — and — I  thought  from 
the  way  you  walked,  the  place  belonged  to  you !" 


Among  the  talking  members  of  the  House, 

HENRY   T.    DRUMMOXD, 

of  Mobile,  occupied  a  prominent  place.     He  talked 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  87 

vastly  too  much,  and  now  and  then  certain  members 
grew  restive  under  the  infliction.  On  one  occasion, 
during  about  Drummond's  third  speech  upon  some 
matter  of  no  especial  moment,  the  member  from  P. 
shot  a  paper  pellet  at  his  nose,  which  was  a  very  pro- 
minent one.  Swiftly  and  surely  across  the  entire  hall 
flew  the  little  missile,  and  fairly  and  truly  it  drove  the 
very  centre  of  the  object  at  which  it  was  aimed.  D., 
highly  indignant,  called  the  sportsman  to  order.  The 
proper  explanation  was  at  once  made,  and  all  was 
quiet  again, — doubly  quiet,  for  the  pellet  efl:ectually 
demolished  D.'s  speech." 

The  member  from  M.,  who  was  talking  to  P.  when 
he  fired  the  shot,  repeated  in  an  under  tone,  as  D.  took 
his  seat : 

"The  first  bird  of  spring 

Attempted  to  sing, 
But  before  he  had  rounded  his  note, 

He  fell  from  the  tree, 

A  dead  bird  was  he, 
The  music  had  froze  in  his  throat." 

Poor,  gallant,  generous,  high-hearted  and  unpopular 
Drummond  !  It  has  seldom  happened  that  a  man  so 
deserving  has  been  blessed  with  fewer  friends.  Inde- 
pendent, chivalrous,  talented,  liberal  and  truly  honor- 
able, as  he  was,  it  would  appear  to  most  persons  that 
he  ought  to  have  counted  his  friends  by  scores  and 
hundreds ;  but  he  was  unfortunately  afflicted  with  a 
temper  quick  and  fiery,  and  with  a  manner  indifferent 
and  unattractive.     Those  who  understood  him  thor- 


88  KANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS. 

oughly,  and  those  only,  liked  him,  and,  in  spite  of  his 
(call  them  not  faults,  but  misfortunes),  admired  him. 
He  served  through  the  Avar,  but  unfortunately  was 
made  to  fill  a  bloody  grave  after  its  close.  Had  he 
lived,  his  too  ardent  spirit  would  no  doubt  have  been 
softened  down  by  age,  and  his  many  noble  qualities 
would  thereby  have  been  allowed  ampler  scope  to 
achieve  that  greatness  which  is  never  thrust  upon  the 
unpopular. 

THE    ROUGH    DIAMOND. 

No !  it  would  be  a  mistake,  but  little  short  of  a 
crime,  to  pass  him  by  without  some  notice  here.  To 
do  so,  would  involve  a  course  not  less  radically  defec- 
tive, than  the  representation  of  the  play  of  Hamlet 
with  the  Prince  of  Denmark  left  out.  He  was  a  pro- 
minent figure  among  these  legislative  characters.  The 
Lord  of  the  Highlands  "eke  was  he" — the  proud  bird 
of  the  mountain,  whose  plume  was  never  torn ! 

He  was  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  rather  rotund 
in  person,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes,  and  a  face  ruddy 
and  good  humored.  With  but  little  information  and 
less  education,  he  was  always  listened  to  with  pleasure 
by  the  House,  because  of  the  impudence,  superlatively 
sublime,  with  which  he  was  abundantly  gifted,  and 
which  never  failed  to  show  itself  in  every  portion  of 
his  remarks  upon  any  subject.  His  character  was  a 
perfect  jumble  of  inconsistencies  and  conti^arieties. 
He  was  simple-minded  and  vain,  genial  and  shrewd, 
honest  and  demagogical. 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  89 

His  speeches  upon  a  measure  were  sometimes, — in- 
deed generally, — made  in  supreme  disregard  of  "time, 
place  and  circumstance."  Anything  that  was  sugges- 
ted to  him  came  out,  whether  in  point  or  out  of  point. 
In  remarks  upon  a  railroad  bill,  for  instance,  no  one 
was  surprised  when  he  left  the  subject  and  launched 
out  in  this  way: 

"My  county,  sir,  is  a  great  county.  It  is  a  land  of 
rugged  rocks  and  sturdy  trees,  and  equally  rugged 
and  sturdy  men.  There  is  nothing  within  its  limits 
to  produce  luxurious  desires,  or  beget  eifeminate  tastes. 
All  live  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows.  Like  them,  I 
have  been  a  hard  worker  since  my  boyhood.  I  am 
almost  without  education — what  little  I  know  has 
been  accidentally  picked  up  here  and  there.  What  I 
am,  I  owe  to  no  man.  Upward,  slowly  but  steadily,  I 
have  worked  my  own  way.  Solitary  and  alone,  sir,  I 
set  this  ball  in  motion.  Thanks  to  strong  hands  and 
legs  and  back,  and — although  I  say  it  myself,  who 
perhaps  ought  not  to  do  so — a  cool  head,  I  am  now 
liere  among  the  magnates  of  Alabama." 

He  was  interrupted  here  by  some  one  rising  and 
suggesting  to  the  chair  the  irrelevancy  of  such  re- 
marks to  the  matter  under  consideration. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  am  opposed  to  this  railroad  scheme. 
Its  friends  are  making  a  great  noise  over  it,  and  show 
no  consideration  whatever  to  the  feelings  of  those 
who  do  not  agree  with  them.  They  are  like  the  Phar- 
isee of  old,  who  thanked  God   he  was   not  as  other 

men.     This  vaunting,  domineering  spirit  won't  serve 
4* 


90  EANDOM    EECOLLECTIONS. 

their  turn.  They  will  accomplish  nothing  by  it.  '  Pride 
goeth  before  destruction,  and  an  haughty  spirit  before 
a  fall.'  It  is  the  great  root  of  all  vices.  It  hurled 
Lucifer  from  Heaven.  It  drove  Adam  from  Paradise. 
It  set  to  work  the  Babel  builders,  and  brought  about 
the  confusion  of  tonoues — an  evidence  of  the  oreat 
misfortune  of  which,  is  to  be  seen  in  the  remarks  of 
some  of  the  gentlemen  upon  this  floor,  whose  scraps 
of  Latin,  French  and  other  outlandish  gibberish,  ren- 
der them  at  times  wholly  unintelligible  to  plain,  un- 
lettered men  like  myself." 

He  was  again  interrupted  by  a  member  submitting 
that  pride  had  nothing  to  do  Avith  railroads. 

"Yes,  the  gentleman's  proud  stomach  can't  stand 
the  wholesome  bitter  of  the  physic.  He  is  one  of 
those  fancy  members,  to  whom  I  have  just  alluded — 
one,  who  so  words  his  remarks  as  to  make  them  dark  to- 
me, and  to  such  as  I  am.  And  he  does  the  same 
with  some  of  his  bills.  Their  sense  is  lost  in  words — 
words.  These  are  the  grasses  concealing,  perhaps, 
dangerous  things;  but  I  look  closely  and  sharply; 
and  whenever  I  see  a  snake  there,  I  knock  it  on  the 
head,  sir — I  knock  it  on  the  head.  But  I  will  return 
to  the  subject  as  the  gentleman  desires.  I  should 
oppose  this  bill  solely  for  the  reasons  given  (he  had 
forgotten  to  give  any) ;  but,  sir,  my  principal  ground 
of  objection  to  it,  is,  that  the  proposed  railroad  is  not 
to  run  throuo^h  mv  countv." 

If  he  opposed  a  tax  bill,  it  was  because  he  objected 
not  only  to  certain  features  of  the  measure,  but  be- 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  91 

cause  his  people  did  not  like  to  pay  taxes— no  more 

did  he. 

Unfortunately  these  imperfect  specimens  furnish 
but  faint  traces  of  that  simplicity,  geniality  and  harm- 
less vanity,  which  gave  point  to  all  he  did,  and  per- 
haps still  more  feebly  display  that  singular— that 
unique  trait,  which,  while  it  made  him,  like  the  dem- 
agogue,  do  certain  things  for  popularity  with  his  con- 
stltuents,  would  not  allow  him,  hke  the  demagogue, 
to  conceal  the  motive. 

If  hving,  his  county  has  in  him  a  most  valuable 
and  trustworthy  citizen  ;  if  dead,  it  has  lost  one— and 
so  has  the  State. 


Everybody  loves  praise.  It  is  not  often  one  is 
disposed  to  object,  even  when  the  commendatory  plas- 
tering is  done  rather  thickly  and  heavily.  Singular 
as  it  may  appear,  but  not  the  less  true  for  all  that,  an 
indifterence  was  exhibited,  and  much  of  it  felt,  by  a 
member  of  the  Legislature,  to  newspaper  panegyric ; 
except,  indeed,  when  he  thought  it  was  too  strongly 
seasoned,  and  then  he  noticed  and  objected  1  That 
man  was 

STEPHEN  W.   HARRIS, 

of  Madison.  With  a  portly  and  commanding  person, 
an  erect  and  dignified  bearing,  and  a  fine  face,  he 
never  failed  to  attract  attention ;  and  his  genial  and 
sprightly  conversational  powers,  his  purity  and  eleva- 
tion of  thought,  his  consistent  piety,  and  his  broad 


92  RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS. 

loving  kindness,  gave  him  an  unending  hold  upon  the 
hearts  of  those  who  knew  him  well.  To  come  upon 
him  suddenly  amid  a  crowd,  was  like  meeting  a  clear 
blink  of  sunshine  breaking  through  a  cloud-rack. 

There  was  an  anonymous  writer  engaged  in  making 
pen  and  ink  sketches  of  certain  of  the  members  fur 
one  of  the  ^Montgomery  dailies.  A  sketch  of  Colonel 
Harris  appeared.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
that ;  but  there  was  something  remarkable  in  the  way 
he  received  the  compliment.  He  was  horrified — the 
word  is  used  deliberately  ;  no  other  will  adequately 
express  the  state  in  which  he  was  placed  by  the  pub- 
lication. The  eulogy,  he  said,  was  unmerited  ;  and 
parts  of  it,  in  its  application  to  himself,  were  simply 
ridiculous;  as,  in  his  few  weeks  of  public  life,  he  never 
had  made  the  least  show  of  the  traits  of  either  ''ora- 
tor" or  "statesman,"  even  if  he  had  them;  which 
Heaven  knew  there  was  no  ground  for  believing. 
The  sketcher,  however,  although  some  of  his  epithets, 
under  the  circumstances,  may  not  have  been  in  the 
finest  taste,  was  much  nearer  right  in  his  estimate, 
than  was  the  object  of  it.  Colonel  H.  was  possessed 
of  the  material,  out  of  which  distinguished  men  are 
made  ;  and  with  Hfe,  inclination  and  less  modesty,  he 
would  have  been  one. 

The  icy  fingers  of  the  great  Destroyer  were  never 
laid  upon  a  purer  and  nobler  man. 

THE    GROWLER. 

People  may  sometimes  disguise  it,  but  they  have 


RANDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS.  93 

respect  for  a  Growler — a  respect  considerably  height- 
ened, when  he  is  honest  and  conscientious.  Generally 
such  an  one,  instead  of  making  himself  disagreeable 
to  those  about  him,  renders  himself  vastly  entertain- 
ing. There  was  one  of  these  excellent  "Grimwigs"  in 
the  Legislature.  Pie  was  past  the  middle  age,  and 
strongly  built,  and  his  every  facial  line  and  look,  and 
every  motion,  were  most  expressive  of  his  disposition 
and  character.  With  him,  as  a  legislator,  the  trans- 
action of  the  business  of  the  State  with  the  greatest 
speed  consistent  with  thoroughness,  was  everything. 
He  believed  in  trudging,  with  ceaseless  energy,  along 
that  dusty  highway,  until  the  journey  was  accom- 
plished— no  loitering  by  the  wayside  to  enjoy  a  cool- 
ing shade,  or  cull  a  fragrant  flower.  Speeches  of  any 
sort  he  regarded  with  little  favor ;  he  murmured  at 
short  ones — he  grumbled  at  long  ones — and  when 
they  were  not  only  long,  but  unsolid,  his  growlings 
were  deep  and  wrathful.  Disgust  inefiable  attended 
his  detection  of  the  faintest  shadow  of  demagoguism, 
or  trickery  on  the  part  of  any  of  his  colleagues — a 
disgust  which  was  never  concealed.  His  mutterings 
and  gruntings  were  addressed  to  no  one — indeed,  he 
seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  them  himself, — and 
although  in  suppressed  tones,  were  ordinarily  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  those  immediately  around  him. 
With  him  a  member  makinsj  a  hio-h-soundinsc 
speech  was  "a  peacock  spreading  his  plumes  to  at- 
tract the  admiration  of  bystanders,  except  for  show, 
of  little  worth;"  and  one  engaged  in   explaining  a 


94  EAXDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS. 

measure,  wliich  he,  Grimwig,  thouglit  too  plain  to  re- 
quire explanation,  was  "trying  to  get  liis  name  in 
the  papers,  and  thus  befool  his  constituents  into  the 
notion  that  he  was  strict  in  his  attention  to  their  in- 
terests; on  the  contrary,  he  was  lengthening  the 
session  unnecessarily,  thereby  taking  money  out  of 
their  pockets,  as  well  as  boring  those  so  stupid  as  to 
listen  to  him." 

He  interrupted  a  gentleman  talking  to  him  on  busi- 
ness, one  day  at  his  seat,  by  the  abrupt  remark : 
"Ladies  in  the  hall." 
"How  do  you  know?     I  see  none."   • 

He  pointed  to  one  of  the  members — very  handsome 
— who  had  just  taken  the  floor. 

"That's  my  indicator,"  said  he.  "He's  the  ther- 
mometer, by  whose  motion  alone  I  am  always 
informed  of  the  presence  of  beautj^'s  fervent  blaze. 

"The  warmth  fi-om  lovely  woman's  eyes 
Doth  make  that  man  mci'curial  rise, 

"That's  some  of  my  poetry,  how  do  you  like  it?" 
Reference  has  been  had  to  his  wrathful  impatience 
of  any  course  that  savored  of  trickery — anything,  in 
short,  done  for  mere  popular  effect.  This  was  most 
frequently  and  ludicrously  called  out  by  any  opposi- 
tion to  bills  appropriating  money  for  necessary  pur- 
poses. His  sotto  voce  comments  then  were  as  bitter, 
and  often  as  sharp  as  those  of  Sir  Mungo  Malagrow- 
ther.     They   sprang,   however,   from   a   nol)le    spirit,, 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  95 

whicli  could  never  be  affirmed  of  the  sayings  of  tlie 
old  Scotch  courtier. 

A  bill  was  introduced  asking  for  a  small  appropria- 
tion to  repair  certain  public  property  which  was 
going  to  waste.  It  was  opposed,  and  a  speech  made 
against  it.     Said  the  opposer : 

"The  wall,  Mr.  Speaker,  should  not"— "Ah,"  mut- 
tered old  growler,  "you  don't  want  the  wall;  you 
prefer  the  catterwaul." 

"I  have  set  on  my  seat"— "Yes,  you  have  sat,  and 
have  hatched  opposition  to  a  necessity,  and  now  you 
are  clucking  to  your  followers.  Do  let  us  have  your 
concluding  cackle,  and  be — zounds  to  you." 


Every  legislative  body  has,  of  course,  some  mem- 
bers possessed  of  more  assurance  than  brains — not 
that  their  supply  of  the  latter  important  article  is 
especially  small  in  every  instance,  but  that  their  sup- 
ply of  the  former  is  most  bountiful.  There  Avere  two 
or  three  of  these  in  the  House.  Of  one,  who  took 
the  floor,  during  what  might  be  termed  a  "hush"  in 
legislative  proceedings,  erected  his  crest,  and  delib- 
erately turning,  looked,  for  about  three  minutes,  upon 
the  upturned  and  expectant  faces  around,  with  won- 
derful self-complacency,  and  with  a  sort  of  gaze-upon- 
one-and-die  air,  and  whose  words,  after  so  august  a 


96  EAXDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

blaze  of  silence,  were  few,  and  rather  "stale,  flat  and 
unprofitable." 

A.  B.   MEEK, 

of  Mobile,  said:  "On  the  whole,  Puff  made  a  splendid 
speech;  whatever  might  be  thought  of  the  talking 
part,  all  must  admit  that  the  looking  part  was  most 
profound,  and,  in  the  highest  degree,  eloquent  and 
impressive." 

Meek  was  Speaker  of  the  House.  He  was  a  man 
of  commanding  presence,  near  six  and  a  half  feet 
high,  well  formed,  and  graceful  in  his  movements, 
with  a  fine  head,  and  a  mild  face.  He  was  an 
excellent  presiding  officer.  It  is  true  that  he  was  not 
at  all  times  as  decided  in  his  rulings  as  he  might  have 
been  perhaps ;  but  there  was,  on  his  part,  such  an  evi- 
dent disposition  to  deal  fairly  and  honestly,  attended 
and  brightened  by  so  much  suavity  and  kindness,  that 
his  mistakes  were  generally  overlooked,  or  unnoticed. 
To  the  younger  members  he  was  especially  considerate 
and  indulgent;  and  nothing  pleased  him  better  than 
to  draw  a  speech  from  one,  who  chanced  to  be  modest 
and  backward — his  pleasure  from  the  operation  being 
increased  in  proportion  to  the  happiness  of  the  effort. 

He  died  about  the  close  of  the  war.  Meek  was 
Alabama's  finest,  if  not  her  only  true,  poet.  His  poe- 
try, too,  is  peculiarly  Southern.  It  is  as  highly 
colored  and  richly  flavored  as  the  fruits  and  flowers 
of  the  South,  as  genial  as  its  breezes,  and  as  pure  and 
brilliant  as  its  sunshine  and  skies.     His  "Charge  at 


RAXDOM    RECOLLECTIO:sS.  97 

Balaklava"  was  attributed  by  the  English  press  to 
Alexander  Smith,  the  author  of  the  Life  Drama,  and 
was  pronounced  by  it  superior  to  the  ''Charge  of  the 
Light  Brigade,"  by  Tennyson. 

ROBERT    T.    LOWE, 

of  Madison,  was  the  youngest  member  of  the  House, 
and  was  endowed  with  much  sprightliness  and  versa- 
tility of  mind.  He  was  a  high-toned,  cultivated  gen- 
tleman. Although  fully  able  to  make  his  mark,  he 
never  took  a  very  active  part  in  discussions.  Some 
remarks,  made  by  him  against  time,  once  created  con- 
siderable amusement.  It  was  near  the  close  of  the 
session.  A  bill  was  being  considered  making  some 
woman  a  free  dealer.  The  opposition  to  it  had  grad- 
ually weakened,  as  the  matter  was  one  that  the 
members  cared  but  little  for ;  and  it  was  about  to  pass, 
when  Lowe  took  the  floor  against  it.  He  saw  that  in 
some  thirty  minutes,  the  hour  for  the  special  order 
would  be  reached;  and  he  determined,  if  possible,  to 
hold  the  floor  for  that  time.  It  was  no  easv  matter, 
as  all  that  could  be  said  against  the  bill  had  been  said 
over  and  over  again.  He  commenced  a  speech, 
which,  as  he  proceeded,  though  out  of  order  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  trimmed  the  edges  of  it  so  closelv, 
and  was  withal  so  sprightly  and  full  of  anecdote,  wilh 
occasional  touches  of  so  much  beauty,  tliat  the  friends 
of  the  measure  forgot  themselves,  and  suffered  him 
unchallenged  to  carry  his  point. 

Lowe  resided  in  Huntsville — a  city  quick  to  recog- 
5 


98  EAXDOM    EECOLLECTIOXS. 

nize  merit  in  her  sons,  and  quick  to  lionor  it.  Her 
yonng  men  were  not  forced  to  await  the  coming  of 
wrinkles  and  gray  hairs,  for  opportunity  to  achieve 
success  in  their  respective  calhngs,  but  when  found 
worthy,  she  ever  took  them  up,  and  assisted  them 
with  a  heartiness  which  left  no  room  for  failure. 
She  thus  became  the  mother,  or  foster  mother,  of 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  men,  who  have 
adorned  the  annals  of  Alabama,  Truly  may  Hunts- 
ville  be  proud  of  her  children, — and  they  have  every 
reason  to  be  proud  of  her, — proud  of  her  imperial 
beauty, — her  broad  and  well  paved  avenues  fringed 
with  stately  trees, — her  clear  running  streams, — her 
closely-drawn  girdle  of  mountains, — her  splendid  pub- 
lic buildings, — her  elegant  private  residences, — her 
fine,  workino-  schools  and  churches, — and  above  all 
her  well  earned  reputation  for  generosity,  refinement 
and  public  spirit.  The  Eev.  F.  A.  Eoss  most  aptly 
described  this  gem  of  a  city,  when  he  characterized 
her  as  being  made  up  of  "streets  of  roses  and  houses 
of  intellio^ence."  Ah !  Huntsville !  beautiful  Hunts^ 
ville!  My  home  once, — my  home  in  that  good  old 
time  forever  lost  in  "clouds  of  blood  and  flame," — I 
can  say  of  thee  what  Paul  Fleming  said  of  Interlaken,. 
— the  sun  of  a  rich  autumn  evening  was  setting,  wheu 
I  saw  thee  for  the  last  time;  but  the  sun  of  life  shall 
set  ere  I  forget  thee ! 

Lowe's,  indeed,  was  a  "little  life  rounded  by  a 
sleep."  He  had  scarcely  more  than  entered  upon  the 
years  of  vigorous  manhood,  when  he  was  cut  off.     He. 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  99 

died  witli  the  Confederacy, — fortunately,  however,  it 
was  not  anions^  strangfers,  unfriended  and  alone,  as 
was  the  fate  of  so  many  of  our  gallant  soldier-boys, 
that  he  breathed  out  his  life;  but  in  a  peaceful  home, 
blessed  with  every  care  and  attention  that  could  be 
bestowed  by  wife  and  sisters  and  brothers  and  friends. 


The  House  Committee  on  Federal  Eelations,  in  the 
session  of  '59-60,  reported  a  series  of  resolutions, 
which  excited  an  animated  discussion.  The  resolu- 
tions strongly  condemned  Douglas's  popular  sov- 
ereignty dogma.     The  report  was  made  through 

DAVID   HUBBARD, 

the  chairman  of  the  committee,  who  advocated  their 
adoption,  in  a  speech  marked  with  the  simplicity  of 
style  and  strength  of  argument,  for  which  he  was  noted. 
"The  old  Major,"  or  "Uncle  Davy,"  as  he  was  desig- 
nated by  his  friends — for  he  had  reached  his  three 
score  and  ten — was  a  man  of  great  vitality.  He  was 
richly  endowed,  too,  with  mind — mind  wanting  in 
polish,  but  by  no  means  wanting  in  vigor.  It  was 
like  a  piece  of  sculpture  by  Michael  Angelo — rough, 
but  full  of  power.  One  of  the  speakers  in  the  debate, 
not  inaptly,  likened  the  whole  man — using  the  lan- 
guage of  Carlyle — to  "some  castle  of  a  feudal  age, 
time-worn  and  battle-scarred,  but  ^rand  in  its  mas- 
siveness  and  black-frowning  strength." 


100  RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS. 

Smith,  Kice,  and  others,  sustained  the  action  of  the 
committee;  Forsyth,  Chtheral,  etc.,  etc.,  opposed  it. 
The  speeches  of  all  were  able.  Forsyth  did  his  best, 
and  those  who  know  him  do  not  require  to  be  told 
what  that  best  was.  A  friend  and  admirer  of  the 
"Little  Giant,"  he  defended  him  valiantly  against  all 
charges;  and,  after  exhausting  argument  in  an  effort 
to  prove  the  soundness  of  Douglas's  political  opin- 
ions, he  reached  out  to  show  the  necessity  of  a  firm 
alliance  between  the  South  and  West — the  first  and 
surest  step  toward  which  would  be  accomplished  by 
the  former  taking  up  this  great  representative  man 
of  the  latter;  a  firm  alliance,  to  stay  the  East  in  its 
persistent  attempts,  by  cunning  thievery,  to  live  upon 
the  results  of  their  toil  and  labor,  and,  by  deeply  laid 
schemes,  to  destroy  the  principles  upon  which  the 
government  was  founded. 

During  the  debate  upon  these  resolutions  a  member, 
after  replying  to  the  arguments  tending  to  show  that 
there  was  no  substantial  difference  between  the  squat- 
ter sovereignty  position  of  Douglas  and  that  of  the 
black  Republican  party,  attended  with  the  statement 
that  between  him  and  a  candidate  of  that  party,  a 
Southern  man  could  have  no  choice,  jocosely  re- 
marked : 

"Not  have  a  choice!  Not  have  a  choice,  sir,  be- 
tween the  two?  This  is  all  stuff".  Sir,  were  his 
Satanic  Majesty  to  die,  and  were  I  allowed  to  vote 
for  his  successor,  provided  one  had  to  be  elected,  I 
should  have  a  choice  between  the  several  aspirants." 


RANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  101 

lie  was  interrupted  here  by  some  one  asking  him 
what  office  in  pandemonium  he  would  expect  in  the 
event  of  the  success  of  his  candidate. 

"That  of  door-keeper,"  was  the  immediate  response, 
"that  of  doorkeeper,  to  admit  the  gentleman  prompt- 
ly, when  he  presents  himself  and  knocks." 

I  have  said  that  a  prominent  part  was  taken  in 
this  debate  by 

ALEXANDER   B.    CLITHERAL, 

or  the  "versatile  Aleck,"  as  Jonse  Hooper  was  accus- 
tomed to  call  him  in  the  "  Mail."  With  his  name 
comes  up  a  multitude  of  associations  pleasant  and  sad. 
He,  in  his  prime,  was  taken  from  the  earth,  after 
long  and  painful  disease  and  suffering.  He  was  my 
friend— for  many  years,  and  during  dark,  dark  days, 
my  intimate  friend ;  and 

"I  never  knew  a  better, 
I  never  loved  a  dearer." 

I  can  scarcely  write  of  him  as  he  really  was.  The 
fear — a  natural  one  under  the  circumstances — that 
others,  who  knew  him  but  as  men  are  ordinarily 
known  to  one  another,  might  regard  my  estimate  of 
his  worth  as  overstrained,  ices  my  pen ;  and  I  am 
likely,  indeed  certain,  to  fall  into  the  opposite  error 
of  doing  less  than  justice  to  his  excellences  of  head 
and  heart. 

His  intellect  was  bright  and  quick.  Almost  with- 
out an  effort  it  seemed  to  seize  hold  of  and  illumine 


102  RANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

every  part  of  a  complicated  question,  enabling  liini  at 
once  to  present  to  others  liis  conclusions  with  great 
clearness.  And  he  was  as  witty,  and  as  happy  at 
repartee,  as  Sydney  Smith.  No  "quip  modest,"  nor 
in  fact,  any  other  sort  of  quip,  was  ever  directed  at 
him,  which  did  not  meet  with  an  immediate  "retort 
courteous;''  and  the  retort  was  generally  the  more 
effective  of  the  two.  His  witticisms  were  sometimes 
characterized  by  all  the  keenness  of  edge  and  deftness 
of  management  of  the  cimeter  of  Saladin  in  dividing 
the  cushion — sometimes  all  the  downright  sheer  force 
of  the  sword  of  Coeur  de  Lion  in  cleaving  the  iron 
bar.  And  yet  such  hearty  good  humor  accompanied 
the  strokes — emphatically  "strokes  of  pleasantry" — 
that  they  never  left  a  wound  behind  them.  If  one 
was  at  any  time  inflicted,  like  that  received  by  Piercie 
Shafton  in  the  alen  of  Cora  nan  Sliian,  it  was  in- 
stantly  healed  by  this  ""White  Lady"  of  the  heart. 

Although  before  Clitheral's  death  years  had  sil- 
vered his  hair,  he  retained  in  a  singular  degree  his 
youthful  freshness  of  feeling. 

"A  mirtbfn.l  man  lie  was — the  snows  of  age 
Fell,  but  they  did  not  chill  him.     Gayety, 
Even  in  life's  closing,  touched  his  teeming  brain 
With  such  wild  visions  as  the  setting  sun 
Eaises  in  front  of  some  hoar  glacier, 
Painting  the  bleak  ice  with  a  thousand  hues." 

He  was  full  of  merriment,  indeed  some  thought  he 
had  rather  too  much;  but  it  shoulcl  be  said  that  be- 
neath all  this  glittering  effervescence  was  the  purest 


RAXDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  103 

wine  of  generosity,  courage  and  integrity,  joined  with, 
a  love  for  bis  friends  as  strong  and  lasting  as  life. 
Many  were  benefited  by  bis  virtues — none,  save  bim- 
self,  were  injured  by  bis  faults.  Let  tbe  latter  sleep 
and  tbe  former  be  cberisbed. 

It  was  during  this  session  of  tbe  Legislature  tbat  I 
first  met 

GEX.    JAMES    H.    CLAXTOX, 

and  I  cannot  refrain  from  turning  aside  to  say  a  few 
words  witb  regard  to  bim — one  of  tbe  best  men  tbat 
Alabama  ever  produced.  He  was  not  a  member,  but 
was  at  tbe  time  engaged  in  tbe  practice  of  tbe  law, 
and  resided  at  Montgomery. 

All  men  are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made.  Men 
of  true  greatness,  bowever,  are  also  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  gifted,  and  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
trained.     Tbey  are  indeed  men,  wlio 

"Think 
What  others  onlj'^  dream  about,  and  do 
What  others  oul}^  thiuk,  and  glory  in 
What  others  dare  but  do." 

And  tbey  are,  by  no  means,  plentiful.  Occasionally 
in  our  journey  tbrougb  life  we  meet  face  to  face  witb 
one.  Soutbern  civilization  bas  developed  a  few  of 
tbe  grandest  specimens  tbat  bave  ever  blessed  tbe 
world  and  ennobled  bumanity.  Not  tbe  least  of  tbese 
was  tbe  subject  of  tbis  sbort  and  burried  sketcb.  Al- 
thougb  many  years  bave  elapsed  since  I  last  met  bim, 


lOtL  RANDOM    RECOLLECTIOXS. 

— it  was  long  before  his  unfortunate  death  in  the  city 
of  Knoxville, — I  can  see  him  almost  as  plainly  now, 
as  if  he  were  bodilj^  before  me, — his  form  splendidly 
developed  by  vigorous  and  manly  exercise, — his  bear- 
ing erect,  dignified,  bold  and  free, — no  disposition 
being  indicated  there  to  "bend  the  pregnant  hinges 
of  the  knee  that  thrift  might  follow  fawning," — and 
his  fine  old  Saxon  face  lighted  up  Avith  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  the  common  expression  of  which  was  frank, 
open  and  confiding,  but  which  could  blaze  like  stars, 
when  the  spirit  behind  them  was  aroused  to  the  per- 
formance of  some  deed  of  ^Ulerring  do'^  in  the  cause  of 
right. 

He  was  the  Ivanhoe  of  Alabama.  Like  that  re- 
nowned knight,  he  was  generous,  manly,  brave,  wise 
in  council  and  in  the  field, — in  a  word,  he  exhibited 
in  his  every  utterance  and  action,  "  high  thoughts 
seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy," — like  him,  he  showed 
upon  his  shield  the  motto  desdichado^ — the  one  being- 
disinherited  by  the  fother,  the  other  by  the  father- 
land, and  that,  too,  in  the  face  of  all  reason  and 
justice, — like  him,  who  strove  to  raise  up  and  protect 
the  lowly  of  England,  he  struggled  to  have  educated 
and  made  useful  the  lowly  of  the  South, — and  like 
him,  in  response  to  the  urgent  and  tearful  appeals  of 
his  afflicted  State,  heroically  and  valiantly,  with  his 
whole  soul,  mind  and  strength,  he  gave  himself  to  the 
great  work  of  ridding  it  of  its  robbers  and  oppressors, 
— its  Bois  Gilberts  and  its  Front  de  Boeufs,  with  their 

grisly  train    of  hungry  and  wolfish  carpet-bag  fol- 
lowers. 


EANDOM    RECOLLECTIONS.  105 

These  imperfect  sketches  are  now  ended.  And,  in 
conclusion,  I  wonld  simply  say, — peace  be  with  the 
young  and  gallant  dead  of  the  State, — and  with  Ala- 
bamians  a  lastino^  remembrance  of  their  worth. 


THE  BACKWOODSMAN. 


THE  BACKWOODSMAN* 

Beauty  ami  music  ma'le  a  new  man  of  him, — 
Changed  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings 

Fletcher. 

Au  old  man  sat  in  a  grange  at  eve, 

His  suit  of  homespun  was  rough  but  neat  ; 

His  hair  tin-own  back  from  a  high-arch'd  brow, 

In  snowy  waves  on  his  shoulders  fell, — 

There  lay  in  curls.     And  broad-chested,  strong, — 

His  face  embrowned,  and  ingrained  with  red 

Of  health's  fine  painting,  with  full-orb'd  eyes, 

Whose  steadfast  raj^s  showed  a  heart  at  ease, 

And  all  at  one  with  itself  and  life ;  — 

A  patriarch! — such  a  man  he  seemed 

As  Abram  was,  after  conq'ring  kings. 

To  city-life  he  was  fresh  and  new : 

For  years  before  to  the  backwoods  he 

Had  gone  ;  and  out  in  the  wilds,  remote 

From  jars  of  turbulent  trade,  and  wars, — 

Without  a  wife,  or  a  child,  or  friend 

Aroixnd  hi:s  hearth,  he  had  passed  his  days ; 

But  while  his  life-work  had  not  been  cheered. 

Or  brightened,  yet  it  had  well  been  done  ; 

And  p  ace  had  hovered  o'er  his  lowly  home. 

Not  htrmit  lone  in  a  mountdn-cave. 

Was  hc'.lf  so  simple  and  plain  as  he, — 

So  free  from  every  art  and  guile. 


*  Addressed  to  3Iiss  B.,  one  of  tlie  sweetest  song-birds  of  East  Alabama,  and  sent 
to  her  on  the  evening  uf  her  marriage — December  20th,  1876. 


103  THE    BACKWOODSMAN. 

A  silent  group,  with  the  list'ning  ear 
Of  youthful  vigor,  were  crowded  round, 
While  th'  old  man  talked  of  the  many  joys. 
And  pure  delights,  of  the  farmer's  home ; 
And  on  this  theme,  to  his  heart  so  dear, 
He  warm  became,  and  abruptly  said: 

"  In  all  the  world,  the  most  graceful  things 
Are  bright  green  stalks  of  the  taper  corn. 
With  curving  blades,  and  feathering  crests, 
In  thickened  ranks  of  their  lusty  life. 
Upright  and  fixed.     And  the  loveliest,"  he 
Went  on  to  say,  "is  a  iield  of  grain, 
Full-headed,  ripe ;  its  fair  golden  sheen 
Made  darker — brighter — as  o'er  it  sweeps, 
In  gentle  billows,  the  evening  wind." 
And  then,  with  glistening  look,  he  asked: 

"  What  music  can  ^-ith  the  sounds  compare, 
Which  daily  'round  ev'ry  farm  arise. — - 
The  song  of  birds,  and  the  hound's  deep  bay. 
The  cattle's  low.  and  the  lab'rer's  c<ill 
From  distant  hill,  which  is  answered  back 
In  multitudinous  laughs  and  shouts?" 

Just  then  the  door,  with  a  noiseless  hand, 
Was  pushed  ajar,  and  there  glided  in 
A  being  wondrously  sweet  and  fair, — 
As  lovely  she  as  the  blush  of  morn, 
With  ejen  as  soft  as  the  dew  of  eve, 
And  form  as  flexile  as  willow  wand ; 
Across  the  hall  with  a  dainty  step, 
She  made  her  way  to  the  organ,  whence 
Ere  long  was  heard,  in  the  sweetest  strains, — 
Now  soft  as  notes  of  a  harp  of  j^ines, — 
Now  weird  as  tones  of  a  mountain-sprite, — 
A  song,  which  thrilled  the  old  man.     He  sat 
Like  one  entranced  till  the  music  ceased ; 
And  all  about,  with  bewildered  air, 
He  gazed,  and  smiled,  and,  then  pond'ring,  said; 


THE    BACKWOODSMAX.  109 

*'  There's  grace,  and  beauty,  and  music  too, 
Far — far  ahead  of  the  ones,  which  I 
Hhve  talked  so  warmly  about  to  yoii ; — 
To  make  the  farm  then  complete  throughout, 
You  should  have  these  in  the  house,  my  boys  I" 


THEODORIC  BURNSIDE, 


THEODORIC  BURNSIDE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

One  woman  is  fair ;  yet  I  am  well ;  another  is  wise ;  j^et  I  am  well ;  another  vir- 
tuous; yet  I  am  well;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not 
come  in  my  grace. 

Shakspeare. 

Tlieocloric  Burnside,  at  the  time  lie  is  here  intro> 
duced  to  the  reader, — 187  , — was  about  forty  years 
of  age,  and  a  bachelor.  It  is  not  known  that  he  was 
ever  the  hero  of  a  song;  though  he  has  often  been 
heard  to  say  that  as  "The  Brookside"  had  been  made 
such,  he  could  see  no  reason  why  The.  Burnside 
should  not  have  received  a  like  honor.  This  much, 
at  any  rate,  can  be  said  of  him  wdth  certainty,  in  this 
regard, — if  he  never  was  the  hero  of  a  song,  he  ought 
to  have  been  of  a  dozen.  He  was  small,  and  com- 
pactly built,  with  a  good-looking,  spirited  and  pleasant 
face,  and  was  gifted  with  the  buoyant  feelings  and 
active  person  of  a  much  younger  man.  An  old  bach- 
elor, he  attributed  his  sleek  appearance  to  the  free- 


112  THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 

dom,  contentment  and  unchecked  flow  of  animal 
spirits  growing  out  of  that  fact.  He  had  traveled 
some,  seen  much  and  heard  more;  and  what  was  bet- 
ter still,  had  profited  bj  all.  A  man  of  abundant 
resources, — "full  of  gibes,  gambols,  music  and  flashes 
of  merriment  that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a 
roar," — when  he  did  not  have  a  story  on  hand,  regu- 
larly fixed  up,  to  meet  a  request,  he  could  easily 
manufacture  one  for  any  party  of  friends,  whom  he 
was  desirous  of  entertaining.  With  all  his  simplicity 
and  geniality,  however, — being  a  man  of  fine  business 
capacity,  business  tendencies  and  business  habits, — 
he  was  generally  successful  in  his  financial  operations, 
at  a  time  when  most  of  his  neighbors  and  friends 
were  the  reverse. 

He  resided,  as  every  Southern  planter  ought  to  do, 
upon  his  plantation, — which,  in  compliment,  it  is  sup- 
posed, to  his  state  of  single-blessedness,  and  his 
determination  to  remain  therein,  he  had  named  "Sin- 
gleton." The  plantation  was  one  of  considerable  size 
and  excellent  quality,  lying  along  the  eastern  bank  of 
the  Alabama  river,  between  the  cities  of  Mobile  and 
Selma.  The  dwelling  was  small, — unornamented, 
except  by  the  flowers  and  vines  that  surrounded  it, — 
was  built  of  brick,  and  stood  upon  a  high,  wooded 
knoll,  overlooking  all  his  broad  and  cultivated  acres, 
on  one  side,  and  the  placidly  moving  current  of  the 
beautiful  river,  on  the  other.  It  was  tlie  frequent 
resort  of  all  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood ; 
and  these  were  by  no  means  scant  in  number,  for  the 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  113 

residences  of  several  other  planters,  with  large  fami- 
lies, were  within  easy  reach  of  it.  His  house  and 
grounds  were  always  open  to  his  friends,  as  he  called 
the  young  folks,  and  he  was  ever  ready  to  entertain 
them ; — they  came,  however, — at  any  rate,  this  was 
true  of  the  boys, — not  so  much  to  enjoy  his  unforced 
and  unstinted  hospitality,  and  the  wisdom  seasoned 
with  anecdote,  which  formed  the  staple  of  his  coDver- 
sation, — as  to  exchange  glances  and  words  with  a 
lively,  singing,  tripping  and  laughing  fairy,  who  was 
his  niece  and  Httle  housekeeper.  May  Burnside  had 
been  received, — an  orphan  of  but  a  few  days, — upon 
his  plantation,  soon  after  he  took  possession  of  it  at 
the  close  of  the  war.  She  had  been,  in  her  earlier 
days,  a  regular  hoyden,  and  was  still  accustomed  to 
do,  under  the  favoring  eyes  of  her  affectionate  and 
easy-tempered  uncle,  pretty  much  as  she  pleased. 
Her  favorite  amusements,  in  the;  beginning  of  her 
plantation  life,  were  romping  about  the  woods,  climb- 
ing trees,  jumping  fences,  riding  wild  horses  and 
breaking  the  hearts  of  the  boys, — all  of  which  was 
perfectly  natural  to  her,  and,  of  course,  could  not  be 
helped.  She  was  eighteen  now;  and  the  last  two  or 
three  years  had  subdued  her  manners  to  the  deco- 
Tousness  befitting  young  womanhood,  although  they 
were  powerless  to  weaken  the  exhuberant  spirit  of 
fun  and  frolic  that  lurked  in  her  heart,  as  was  evi- 
denced by  the  ever-dancing  brilliancy  of  her  large 
gray  eyes,  and  the   ever-playing    dimples  upon   her 

well-rounded  cheek,  and    about   her   gentlj^-swelhng 
5* 


11-i  THEO DORIC   BURNSIDE. 

lips.     The  boys,  however,  were  wasting  their  time  in 
worshiping  at  the  shrine  of  her  beauty  and  virtue,  as 
she  had  given  her  heart  and  promised  her  hand  to 
Harry   Welborne,   the  only  son   of  a  widow,   whose 
phmtation,  farther  up  the  river,  adjoined  Singleton. 
Harry  was  a  handsome  young  fiellow,  passably  well 
educated,  of  good  principles,  though  somewhat  head- 
strong from  the  easy  training  of  a  fond  and  indulgent 
mother,  and  was  as  full  of  mischief  as  May,  with  no 
disposition,  like  her,  to  curb  its  exercise.     The  widow 
Welborne, — Harry's   mother, — lost   her   husband  by 
the  fall  of  his  horse  in  a  fox-chase,  before  the  days  of 
their  honeymoon  were  ended.     In  spite  of  the  number 
of  suitors  for  her  favor  and  hand  since  her  sad  be- 
reavement,— and  there  had  been  scores  of  them, — fc^r 
she  was  possessed  of  every  attraction, — 3'outh,  beauty, 
virtue,  intelligence  and  wealth, — she  had  remained  a 
widow    now    for    more    than    twenty    years.      Her 
mourning  weeds  had  never  been  laid  aside;  and  she 
always  said,  when  she  alluded  to  the   subject  at  all, 
that  no  one  should  ever  supply  the  place  in  her  heart 
made  vacant  by  the  death  of  her  young  husband,  and 
that  it  was  wdiolly  consecrated  to  his  memory.     The 
onl}^  unmarried  man,  whom  she  was  accustomed  to 
see  upon  the  footing  of  a  familiar  acquaintance, — he 
indeed  Avas  a  valued  and  trusted  friend, — w^as  The- 
odoric  Burnside.     Of  late  they  had  been  drawn  much 
more  closely  and  intimately  together  by  the  engage- 
ment of  Harry  and  May. 

Burnside   and    Harry  were    congenial   spirits    and 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  115 

devoted  friends.  The  former  was  never  so  happy,  as 
when  he  had  the  other  by  his  side,  either  at  home, 
upon  a  fishing  excursion,  or  in  the  fields,  listening  to 
his  glowing  descriptions  of  the  pleasures  of  old  bach- 
elordom,  and  his  good-humored  railings  at  woman 
and  marriage, — the  young  dog  generally  chiming  in 
with  them  enthusiastically,  telhng  anecdotes  illustra- 
tive of  their  correctness,  and  laughing  ap^DTOvingly, — 
and  always  winding  up  with  the  statement:  "If  there 
never  had  been  a  May  Barnside,  I  am  sure,  uncle 
The.,  I  would  feel  and  act  exactly  as  you  do." 


116  THEODOPJC    BUEXSIDE. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Now  the  wtisterl  bran^ls  rlo  glow, 

Wliile  tlie  screech-owl  souudiug  loud, 
Puts  the  wretch  that  lies  in  woe, 

In  reiuemlirance  of  a  shroud. 
Kow  it  is  the  time  of  night, 

Tliat  the  graves  all  gaping  wide. 
Every  one  lets  out  its  sprite 

In  the  church-way  paths   to  gli<le. 

Shakspeare. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Burnside  bad  been  ratber 
more  pleasantly  and  bnmorouslj  noisy  than  usual  in 
his  anti-nu])tial  railings,  Harry  asked : 
"Uncle  The.! — were  you  never  in  love  ?" 
"Yes,"  replied  the  old  bachelor; — ''twice,  and  des- 
perately. Let  me  tell  you  how  it  was,  Harry,"  con- 
tinned  he  with  a  sly  twinkle  of  the  eye.  "If  yon  will 
remind  me,  I  will  make  you  acquainted  with  mv 
second,  and  last  love-adventure,  at  some  future  day." 

burxside's  first  love. 

It  was  a  little  nameless  watering-place  among  the 
monntains — never  visited  by,  indeed  scarcely  known 
to,  the  fashionable  part  of  the  world  closest  to  it. 
Quiet,  sequestered,  and  picturesque  in  itself  and  in  all 
of  its  surroundings,  it  was  certainly  the  most  delight- 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  117 

fill  spot  I  have  ever  seen.  Tlie  post-road,  from  a  city 
about  a  day's  journey  below,  to  a  vdlage  a  short  dis- 
tance al)ove,  ran  within  six  or  eight  miles  of  The 
Spring.  It  was  reached  by  a  way  that  assumed  an 
appearance  of  wildness  and  utter  seclusion  almost  as 
soon  as  it  branched  oir  from  the  broader  thoroughfare, 
— leading,  as  it  did,  up  a  narrow  valley  made  by  a 
range  of  mountains  on  one  side,  and  a  succession  of 
high,  rocky  hills  on  the  other,  through  which  a  trans- 
parent brook  brawled  over  pebbles,  fretted  around 
huge  boulders,  or  peacefully  glided,  in  a  smooth  and 
glassy  current  over  ledges  as  level  as  a  floor,  edged 
with  miniature  water-falls.  The  road  curved  with  the 
meanderings  of  the  stream, — was  sometimes  on  one  of 
its  banks, — sometimes  on  the  other, — and  not  nnfre- 
Cjuently  it  wound  along  its  shallow  bed.  At  the  point, 
where  the  valley  opened,  and  included  within  its 
sweep  a  few  hundred  acres  of  arable  land,  in  a  high 
state  of  cultivation,  a  spring  of  line  chalybeate  water, 
cool  enough  to  need  no  ice,  and  copious  enough  to 
supply  an  ordinary  mill,  gushed  from  the  rocks  at  the 
base  of  a  lofty  peak,  isolated,  and  shaped  like  a  cone. 
The  homestead  of  an  opulent  farmer,  which  was  suffi- 
ciently capacious  to  accommodate  all  who  were  led  to 
visit  this  out-of-the-way  place,  fronted  the  peak  and 
spring,  and  was  divided  from  them  by  a  small  plat  of 
level  land,  green  with  grass,  which  was  kept  so  well 
cropped  by  the  herds  of  fat  cattle  that  roamed  through 
the  valley,  as  to  resemble  a  thick  carpet  of  velvet 
moss.  The  building  was  of  brick  and  sat  in  a  cluster 
of  oak  trees. 


118  THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 

It  was  in  the  year  1845,  that  a  party  of  wild  and 
frolicsome  students  from  the  university  located  near 
the  city  before  mentioned,  spent  here  their  summer 
vacation.  The  oldest  of  them  was  not  far  from  twen- 
ty-five, and  the  youngest,  which  was  myself, .  scarcely 
fifteen.  To  say  that  they  enjoyed  their  holiday, — 
their  unforced  rustication  in  this  lovely  place, — gives 
but  a  faint  idea  of  the  exhilaration  of  feeling,  with 
which  each  day  was  hailed,  and  its  hours  passed.  To 
youth  there  was  food  for  pleasure  scattered  all  around. 
In  the  deep  and  whirling  eddies  of  the  stream,  and 
under  the  roots,  which,  descending  from  the  shelving 
banks,  were  knotted  and  twisted  upon  the  surface  of 
the  water,  lurked  hundreds  of  mountain  trout,  that 
could  only  be  taken  by  such  care  and  caution,  as  gave 
ten-fold  zest  to  the  sport,  and  additional  flavor  to  the 
fish,  when  served  up  for  the  evening  meal.  Now  and 
then  deer  could  be  seen  down  the  little  valley,  drink- 
ing from  the  stream,  or  leaping  away  between  the 
trees;  and  hardly  a  week  passed  without  one  or  more 
falling  before  the  rifles  of  some  of  the  party,  and 
scarcely  a  day  without  a  haunch  of  venison  gracing 
our  table.  Pheasants,  too,  which  could  be  heard  about 
sunset,  in  every  direction,  drumming  upon  the  logs, 
with  their  sinewy  wings,  were  occasionally  added  to 
our  rich  country  bill  of  fare. 

At  the  time,  there  were  no  railroads  throush  the 
section,  of  which  I  speak, — and  consequently  no  silks 
and  broad-cloths,  but  plenty  of  genuine  substantial 
homespun, — no    highly-spiced    dishes,  but  plenty  of 


THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE.  119 

home-raised  ham,  fowls,  eggs  and  fruits, — no  starva- 
tion, with  board  at  three  dollars  a  day,  but  abundance 
with  board  at  one  dollar  and  a  half  per  week, — in 
short,  nothing  suggestive  of  Paris,  but  much  sugges- 
tive of  Eden. 

The  company  at  The  Spring,  in  addition  to  the 
students,  was  made  up  of  a  militia  General, — a  tall, 
white-haired  old  gentleman,  whose  solemn  counte- 
nance seemed  never  to  have  been  brightened  by  a 
smile ;  a  burly,  well-to-do  farmer,  who  was  a  kind  of 
protege  of  the  old  General ;  and  two  or  three  lively 
young  ladies.  Eomantic,  verdant  and  impressible,  it 
did  not  take  me  long  to  conclude  that  one  of  these 
damsels  was  the  very  queen  of  loveliness.  She  was 
above  the  medium  height,  slender  in  shape,  graceful 
in  movement,  with  a  pale  face,  blue  eyes,  flaxen  hair, 
delicate  features,  and, — I  say  it  with  hesitation, — not 
more  than  twenty-five  jesLVS  old.  Although  her  age 
scarcely  doubled  mine, — and  I  consequently  thought 
her,  at  the  time,  a  shade  too  young, — I,  pretty  soon 
after  my  arrival,  let  go  every  hold  upon  prudence  and 
safety,  and  tumbled  into  love.  Boy-like  my  affection 
soon  became  a  species  of  worship.  To  me  her  every 
smile  was  light, — her  every  motion  beauty, — her  every 
tone  music — from  heaven.  I  loved  the  very  grass 
over  which  she  so  daintily  walked ;  and  the  flowers 
that  she  plucked  and  carelessly  threw  aside,  I  treas- 
ured as  something  better  than  diamonds.  I  looked 
through  the  poets  for  beautiful  descriptions  of  female 
charms  to  quote  and  apply  to  her.     I  recollect  now 


120  THEODORIC    BURXSIDE. 

some  of  the  passages,  which  were  my  favorites  for  the 
purpose. 

One  was  from  Wordsworth  : 

"A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone, 
Half  hidden  from  the  eye, 
Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky." 

Another,  I  think,  was  from  old  Herbert : 

"Ask  me  no  more  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale,  when  May  is  past, 
For  in  your  sweet  dividing  throat 
She  winters,  and  keeps  warm  her  note." 

And  still  another  was  from  Prentice.  This  last 
suited  me  exactly.  It  was  as  gushing,  as  I,  or  any 
3'outhful  lover,  could  desire  : 

"I  love  thee  I  — oh,  I  love  thee  I 

There's  nanght  in  the  bright  blue  sky — 
Ko  lovely  thing  of  earth  but  brings 

Thy  sweet  foi-m  to  my  eye. 
I  love  thee  I — and  there's  not  a  sound, — 

A  note  to  my  spirit  dear, — 
A  breath  from  nature's  lip  but  gives 

Thy  voice  to  my  ravished  ear." 

I  soon  saw  that  the  well-to-do  farmer  was  in  love 
with  her  too, — but  he  was  much  too  old  for  her, — 
having  seen  full  thirty  years,  if  a  day.  Despite  his 
age,  however,  he  was  by  no  means  bad  looking  ; — even 
in  my  depreciating  eyes,  he  appeared  a  robust,  manly, 
bright-faced  fellow.     She  showed  very  unmistakably 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  121 

tliat  she  did  not  fancy  liim.  She  avoided  him — 
especially  in  company, — slighted  him, — would  often 
refuse  to  dance  or  walk  with  him,  and  then  would 
dance  two  or  three  sets  with  me  in  quick  succession, 
or  take  a  stroll  with  me  along  some  of  the  beautiful 
and  retired  paths  radiating  from  The  Spring.  She 
would  let  me  take  her  soft  hand,  too,  and  press  it ;  and 
once  she  permitted  me,  in  assisting  her  over  a  branch, 
which  she  could  easily  have  stepped  across,  to  put  my 
adventurous  arm  about  her  taper  waist. 

The  General  and  his  protege,  the  well-to-do  farmer, 
I  saw,  were  in  much  trouble,  as  they  frequently  held 
long  and  anxious  conferences  together.  The  old  officer 
about  this  time  sought  opportunities  of  talking  with 
me.  He  had  in  his  hand  one  daj^  when  we  met,  Bul- 
wer's  Strange  Story,  and  asked  me  if  1  had  ever  read 
it.  I  replied,  yes, — and  that  I  thought  it  a  wonderful 
book.  The  conversation  very  naturally  passed  from 
the  novel  to  spiritualism.  He  expressed  himself  as 
being  a  firm  believer  in  ghosts,  and  desired  to  know 
what  were  my  views  on  the  subject.  Now,  I  had 
unfortunately,  when  a  small  boy,  been  a  ready  and 
greedy  listener  to  the  talk  of  negroes  around  their 
cabin  fires  at  night,  on  my  father's  place.  Their  mar- 
vellous stories  on  such  occasions  had  developed  in  me 
a  broad  vein  of  superstition.  While,  therefore,  I 
answered  that  I  did  not  believe  in  ghosts  at  all,  I,  no 
doubt,  did  it  in  such  way  as  led  him  to  conjecture  that 
I  had  no  wish  to  meet  with  anything  tliat  looked  like 

one.     An  evening  or  two  subsequent  to  this  conver- 
6 


122  THEODOEIC  BURXSIDE. 

sation,  we  were  all  sitting  around  a  fire  in  the  large 
hall  of  our  boarding-house,  when  the  General  gravely 
remarked  that  about  twelve  o'clock  the  night  before, 
he  had  seen,  from  the  window  of  his  room,  a  woman 
in  white  cross  the  green  in  front  of  the  mansion,  and 
disappear  among  the  trees  on  the  opposite  side.  Many- 
questions  were  asked  by  the  party,  but  nothing  fur- 
ther could  be  elicited  from  the  taciturn  old  gentleman. 
The  following  evening  he  repeated  the  story  to  the 
company,  with  the  additional  circumstance,  that  the 
woman  in  white,  when  she  was  under  his  window  had 
looked  up,  and  the  moon  which  was  at  its  full,  shone 
upon  the  face  of  one,  who  had  formerly  resided  in  the 
immediate  vicinity,  but  had  long  been  in  her  grave. 
His  story,  so  solemnly  and  deliberately  told,  produced 
among  the  ladies  visible  marks  of  trepidation,  and 
even  caused  grave  and  serious  expressions  to  rest 
upon  the  faces  of  the  men.  Just  before  sunset,  on  an 
evening  perhaps  ten  days  after  this  occurrence,  one  of 
the  oldest  of  the  students — a  full  grown  man — asked 
me  to  take  a  walk  with  him.  We  selected  a  pathway, 
— thickly  hned,  on  either  side,  with  undergrowth, — 
and  which,  generally  level  and  sandy,  now  and  then, 
passed  through  deep,  shady  glens,  watered  by  little 
streams,  that  flowed  from  the  surrounding  hills.  The 
shadows  of  a  clear  but  moonless  night  were  beginning 
to  settle  upon  the  landscape,  when  we  commenced  to 
retrace  our  steps.  We  had  proceeded  but  a  short  dis- 
tance in  the  direction  of  The  Spring,  when  there  rung 
out  upon  the  air,  just  ahead  of  us,  and  a  little  to  the 


THEODORIC   BUENSIDE.  123 

left  of  the  way,  a  piercing  shriek,  ending  in  a  sort  of 
quavering  groan — something  between  the  scream  of  a 
panther  and  the  cry  of  a  screech-owl.  My  companion, 
whom  I,  at  the  time,  had  by  the  arm,  seemed  to  be  in 
an  ecstacy  of  fear ; — he  was  shivering  in  every  fibre 
of  his  stalwart  frame,  as  he  exclaimed :  "  What  on 
earth  can  it  be?"  Not  being  able  to  answ^er,  I  said 
nothing,  but  strode  resolutely  forward.  Descending 
into  one  of  those  shadowy  glens  before  alluded  to, 
which  was  now  extremely  dark,  and  reaching  the  little 
stream,  he  jerked  out,  in  a  horrified  voice:  "Look 
there  ! " — and  with  a  yell,  like  the  scream  of  a  loco- 
motive, sprang  away  in  the  darkness,  shouting  at  every 
jump — "  murder — thieves — fire — ghosts — save  me — • 
save  me — oh  Lord — oh  Lord !"  Looking  down  the  open 
way  made  by  the  stream,  I  saw  something  white,  waving 
its  arms,  and  standing  apparently  on  the  ground,  while 
its  head  w^as  at  least  two  or  three  feet  above  the  bushes 
in  its  neighborhood.  It  occurred  to  me,  even  then, 
that  this  undergrowth  was  not  less  than  tw^o  yards  in 
height,  and  consequently  that  the  altitude  of  the  fright- 
ful figure  could  scarcely  be  short  of  eight  or  nine  feet. 
I  now  waited  no  further  question,  or  no  further  cal- 
culation rather,  but  dashed  after  my  comrade,  who  was 
so  far  in  advance  of  me,  that  the  sound  of  his  rapid 
foot-strokes,  and  his  energetic  cries,  could  but  faintly 
be  heard.  Being  young,  vigorous,  fleet,  and  impelled 
by  the  fear  of  what  was  behind,  I  fairly  devoured  the 
ground,  and  in  a  marvellously  short  time,  reached  The 

Spring  out  of  breath,  but  full  of  the  spirit  wdiich  I 
had  seen. 


124:  THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 

When  morning  came  I  songht  the  spot  from  whicli 
I  had  hurried  so  recklessly  the  previous  evening,  and 
found,   exactly  where  the  supposed   apparition  had 
stood,  a  large  stump,  just  three  feet  and  a  half  high. 
Upon  this,  as  a  pedestal,  I  knew  that  the  person  who 
frightened   me,    had    perched    himself.     At   once   it 
dawned  upon  my  mind  that  I  had  been  the  victim  of 
a  conspiracy, — the  parties  to  which,  I  felt  sure,  were 
the  General,  the  well-to-do  farmer,  and  my  companion 
in  the  evening's   walk.     I    returned  to  The  Spring 
a  sadder  and  a  wiser  boy.     As  I  crossed  the  hall,  I 
passed  mj  lady-love,  talking  with  one  of  her  female 
friends,  and  heard  her  say,  as  she  meaningly  looked  to- 
ward me  :   "  Poor  child  I — he  ought  to  go  home  to  his 
mother."    I  knew  then  she  was  lost  to  me  !    She  mar- 
ried, I  subsequently  learned,   the  well-to-do  farmer, 
whom,  of  course,  she  was  in  love  with,  and,  no  doubt, 
engaged  to,  all  the  time  she  was  receiving  my  fool- 
ishly fond  attentions,  and  became  the  joyful  mother  of 
many  children. 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  125 


CHAPTER   III. 

If  it  prove  so  then  loving  goes  by  liaps, 

Some  Cupid  kill^  with  arrows — some  with  traps. 

Shakspeaee. 

"May,"  said  Harrj,  as  they  were  standing  under  a 
wide-spreading  oak,  upon  the  bank  of  the  river  at 
Singleton,  "I  have  an  idea." 

"Wonderful,"  replied  May.  "Let  us  have  it  bj  all 
means.  That  commodity  over  your  way,"  glancing 
at  him  with  her  bright  eyes,  "is  too  scarce  to  be  neg- 
lected." 

"I  have  been  thinking  seriously  of  bringing  about 
a  marriage  between  Uncle  The.  and  mother;  and  I 
want  you  to  help  me." 

"Well,  that  is  an  idea, — one  that  could  only  have 
arisen  in  your  mad  brain.  Help  you  indeed!  I  shall 
be  gailty  of  no  such  folly." 

"But,  May,  I  am  in  earnest.  Mother  and  Uncle 
The.,  I  am  sure,  have  a  sneaking  kindness  for  each 
other.  They  don't  know  it,  though.  Only  a  little 
management  on  our  part  is  necessary  to  induce  them 
to  acknowledge  it  first  to  themselves,  and  then  to  one 
another." 

"Xow,  Harry,"  said  May,   "you  have  jumped  to 


126  THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE. 

tliat  conclusion.  It  is  perfectly  absurd.  I  have  not 
seen  the  least  trace  of  a  marrying  humor  about  uncle, 
and  certainly  none  about  your  mother.  If  I  had  been 
called  upon  to  point  out  two  persons  in  all  the  world, 
to  whom  the  thought,  in  connection  with  themselves, 
of  matrimony,  never  occurred,  I  should  have  directed 
my  finger  at  them.  It  will  not  do  for  you  to  attempt 
what  you  suggest.  The  result  will  be  a  failure,  and 
might  be  a  very  painful  one  to  others  beside  your- 
self." 

"Nonsense!"  observed  Harry.  "Uncle  The.,  in  the 
face  of  all  his  big  talk  about  the  independence  of 
and  delights  of  bachelor-life,  is  tired  of  it.  He  loves 
mother;  I  am  sure  of  that;  and  I  am  equally  sure 
that  she  more  than  esteems  him.  They  just  don't 
know  it — that's  all.  But  with  your  assistance,"  added 
he  coaxingly,  "I  will  enlighten  them,  and  do  it  very 
soon  too." 

"But,  Harry! — "  remonstrated  the  more  prudent 
May. 

"Hush," —  said  Harry,  with  a  formidable  frown, 
and  an  imperious  Avave  of  the  hand, — "hush! — my 
mind  is  made  up ;  and  it  is  your  duty  to  obey  me, — at 
any  rate,"  continued  he,  with  mock-gravit}^,  "j'ou 
ought  to  do  so  now,  that  the  good  and  peace-begetting 
habit  may  be  formed,  and  obedience  come  naturally 
and  easily  to  you  after  awhile — you  know!  I  will 
give  mother  a  talk  on  the  subject  at  once.  Never 
fear! — it  will  come  out  all  rioht."     And  the  head- 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  127 

strong  boj,  shutting  out  from  his  mind  all  scruples, 
prudential  and  otherwise,  took  his  leave. 

That  afternoon,  seated  with  his  mother  at  home,  he 
commenced  his  approaches.  He  did  so  cautiously 
and  scientifically,  but,  at  the  same  time,  mercilessly. 

"Mother,"  said  the  hypocritical  scamp,  "it  will  not 
be  long  before  May  and  I  will  be  married,  and  you 
will  have  a  daughter, — two  children  to  minister  to 
your  comfort  and  happiness  instead  of  one." 

"Yes,  Harry; — the  presence  of  May  in  the  house, 
of  itself,  would  be  pleasant,  but  the  knowledge  of 
your  joy  in  connection  with  it,  will  make  it  infinitely 
more  so." 

"Don't  you  think,  mother.  Uncle  The.  will  be  very 
lonely  after  May  leaves  him?  She  has  been  so  long 
the  light  of  his  dreary  old  bachelor-hearth.  Like 
you,  he  will,  it  is  true,  have  two  children,  where  he 
now  has  but  one,  for  he  shall  be  to  me  a  father,  as  he 
has  ever  been  to  May;  but,  unlike  you,  he  will  have 
neither  of  them  at  his  home." 

"Yes,"  responded  the  widow  sadly,  "he  will  greatly 
miss  May — and,  no  doubt,  he  will  be  very  lonely. 
But  we  cannot  always  have  those  we  wish  around  us. 
We  must  learn  to  enjoy  the  comforts  Ave  have,  with- 
out repining  for  those  that  are  withheld." 

"Mother,"  said  Harry,  softly  and  insidiouly,  "what 
do  you  think  of  Uncle  The.  ?  I  know  you  hke  him 
— I  don't  mean  for  you  to  tell  me  that;  but  what  sort 
of  a  man  is  he,  in  your  opinion  ?" 

"If  it  will  be  any  consolation  to  you,"  said  the  un- 


128  THEODORIC   BUEXSIDE. 

suspecting  widow,  gently,  "in  marrying  his  niece,  I 
will  say  that  I  regard  him  as  being  one  of  the  noblest 
and  purest  men  I  have  ever  met." 

"It's  a  consolation  to  me  in  another  respect.  I  am 
rejoiced  that  you  esteem  him  so  highly, — for,  mother, 
let  me  whisper  it  in  your  ear,"  said  Harry,  leaning 
toward  her, — "Uncle  The.  loves  you!" 

"Loves  me!  Oh,  Harry! — you  are  dreaming; — 
and — and,  you  ought  not  to  say  so, — and — and,  it 
ought  not  to  be  so, — and — and,  it  must  not — cannot 
be  so," — answered  the  widow,  sobbing,  and  finally 
bursting  into  fears. 

Harry  was  aghast  at  the  effects  of  his  disclosure* 
but  he  had  gone  too  far  to  recede; — so  though  some- 
what frightened,  and  considerably  moved,  he  pressed 
resolutely  ahead. 

"It  is  the  truth,  mother; — and,"  said  he,  earnestly, 
"he  is  the  onlj^  man  living  that  I  would  be  willing  to 
see  your  husband, — to  see  occupy  my  father's  place. 
I  would  say  that,  even  if  I  w^ere  not  going  to  marry 
May."  And  the  perfidious  boy  arose,  and  put  his 
arm  affectionately  around  his  mother's  neck. 

Harry  said  nothing  more  then.  He  saw  before 
many  hours  had  passed  that  his  words  had  made  a 
deep  impression  upon  his  mother,  and  he  ever  imag- 
ined that  she  frequently  turned  the  thoughts,  sug- 
gested by  them  over  in  her  mind,  and  sometimes  with 
no  unpleasant  feelings. 

In  the  prosecution  of  this  nefarious  conspiracy 

against  the  expressed  predilections  for  blessed-single- 


THEODORIC   BURNSIDE.  129 

ness,  on  the  part  of  two  sucIl  near  and  dear  relatives^ 
Harry  called  to  see  his  betrothed  a  few  days  subse- 
quent to  the  foregoing  conversation. 

"It  is  all  right,  May,"  exclaimed  he,  exultingly,  as 
soon  as  he  kissed  her,  and  thereupon  he  proceeded 
immediately  to  kiss  her  again.  "  Mother  does  love 
Uncle  The.  a  little.  Now  you  can  tell  him  so,  with- 
out any  misgivings  upon  the  score  of  truthfulness, — 
and  we  will  have  him  all  right  too." 

Before  a  week  had  elapsed  the  talk  of  these 

two  young  madcaps  had  led  the  uncle  and  mother  to 
believe  that  each  was  almost,  if  not  quite,  dying  of 
love  for  the  other. 


130  THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 


CHAPTER  lY. 

What  men  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  then  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear, 
The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hj'rcau  tiger, 
Take  any  shape  but  this,  and  my  firm  nerves 
Shall  never  ti'emble.    *.    Hence  horrible  shadow, 

SHAK.SPEABE. 

"Uncle  The.,"  said  Harrj,  "jou  promised  me,  sev- 
•eral  days  ago,  an  account  of  your  second  love-scrape. 
Let  me  hear  it  now — please." 

"Yery  well,"  replied  Burnside,  "provided  you  and 
May  will  keep  your  galloping  tongues  still  while  I 
am  talking." 

burxside's  secoxd  love. 

In  the  year  1858,  I  was  a  leading  merchant  of  a 
small  village  in  the  lower  part  of  Alabama;  perhaps  if 
1  were  to  say  that  I  was  the  only  merchant  the 
meaning  of  the  former  epithet  would  not  be  mis- 
understood. It  was  one  of  those  lazy  little  places, 
which  are  frequently  seen  to  spring  suddenly  up  at 
the  crossing  of  public  thoroughfares,  but  which  never 
become  sufficiently  important  to  secure  a  place  on  the 
map.  One  or  two  intermediate  roads,  however, 
centred  here,  which  added  somewhat  to  the  life  and 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  131 

business  of  the  place.  Along  these  highways  and 
byways,  at  greater  or  shorter  intervals, — principally 
the  former ! — were  built  the  dwellings  of  the  humble 
villagers, — so  that  to  one  standing  at  the  public 
23ump,  in  the  centre  of  the  crossing,  these  houses 
appeared  to  have  straggled  off  into  the  country. 

The  principal  citizen  of  the  neighborhood, — a  most 
unlovable  old  character, — was  named  Wirt  Hurlson. 
His  tall,  meager  person  was  generally  clad  in  a  suit  of 
rusty  black,  while  a  weather-beaten,  broad-brimmed 
hat  flapped  above  grizzled  locks,  that  were  always 
unkempt,  a  hooked  nose,  that  was  constantly  be- 
smeared with  snuff,  and  a  pair  of  thin  lips  that  were 
seldom  without  a  sneer.  He  was  an  infidel,  out- 
spoken and  defiant,  and  a  miser,  close  and  grasping. 
He  would  fasten  upon  a  penny  with  the  unyielding, 
death-like  clutch  of  a  Trapbois,  and  scoff  at  religion 
with  the  venom  and  boldness  of  a  Voltaire, — his  face, 
at  the  same  time,  wearing  the  sardonic  grin  of  a 
Mephistopheles.  A  devout  worshiper  of  Tom  Paine, 
— he  read  the  Age  of  Eeason  as  regularly,  and  re- 
garded its  teachings  as  reverentially,  as  a  Mahomme- 
dan  do3s  those  of  the  Koran.  He  had  the  largest  and 
best  farm;  the  finest  and  fattest  horses  and  cattle;  the 
roughest  and  dingiest  old  house,  and  the  brightest 
and  prettiest  daughter  of  any  one  within  ten  miles 
around.  Kate  Hurlson  was  indeed  a  little  beauty; 
and  she  had  the  reputation  of  being  as  lovely  in  mind 
and  heart  as  she  was  in  person.  She  idolized  her 
hard-hearted,    hard-headed    and    hard-featured     old 


132  THEODORIC    BURXSTDE. 

father;  and  lie  trusted  and  loved  lier,  if  lie  trusted 
and  loved  nothing-  else. 

I  have  said  that  he  lived  in  an  unsightl}"  old  house. 
It  was  a  large,  rambling,  crazy-looking  structure, 
crowning  a  hill,  which  overlooked  the  village.  Al- 
though a  spot,  bj  no  means,  inviting  in  appearance 
to  the  ordinary  observer,  yet  such  were  its  attractions 
to  me,  that  every  Sunday  afternoon,  and  many  an 
evening  between,  found  me  seated  in  its  scantily  fur- 
nished parlor.  The  cheerlessness  of  the  room  was 
always  relieved  by  a  bright  fire  when  the  weather 
was  cool,  by  flowers  tastefully  arranged  and  placed 
upon  shelves  and  tables,  and,  more  than  all,  by  the 
presence  of  the  genial  and  winsome  Kate. 

I  had  begun  to  think  my  chances  to  get  her  in  pos- 
session, at  once,  with  a  round  fortune,  in  futuro, 
pretty  good, — when  the  prospect  of  obtaining  both, 
at  the  same  time,  was  unexpectedly  presented  to  me. 
A  paralytic  stroke  prostrated  Wirt  Hurlson,  and  in  a 
few  days,  he  was  no  more.  He  died,  as  he  had  lived, 
— in  short,  as  far  as  the  future  was  concerned,  he 
died,  like  Bothwell  in  Old  Mortality, — "hoping  noth- 
ing, believing  nothing  and  fearing  nothing!" 

The  night  before  the  burial,  I  sat  up  with  the 
corpse, — a  young  physician,  and  my  assistant  in  the 
store,^were  with  me.  The  body  was  laid  out  in  the 
chamber,  which  had  been  occupied  by  the  old  man 
during  life,  and  which  was,  if  possible,  more  dilapi- 
dated and  ill-furnished  than  any  other  part  of  the  old 
mansion.     Placed  upon  a  board  between  two  chairs, 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  133 

Avitli  a  sheet  thrown  over  them,  which  was  dimly 
white  and  gently  waving  in  the  dark  corner, — for  the 
light  of  a  single  tallow  candle  upon  the  mantel,  left 
the  larger  part  of  the  room  in  deep  shadow, — it  pre- 
sented to  the  eye  a  picture  by  no  means  suggestive  of 
pleasant  reflections.  The  weather  was  wild  and 
stormy;  and  the  wind  sighed  and  moaned  and  howled 
around  the  corners,  through  the  cracks  and  crannies 
and  along  the  deserted  passages  of  the  old  mansion, 
in  a  manner  somewhat  trying  to  nerves  not  made  of 
steel.  We  were  shivering  about  midnight  over  a 
ghost  of  a  fire,  when  my  clerk  suggested,  that,  if  I 
wished,  he  would  go  down  to  the  store  for  cigars, 
brandy  and  other  refreshments,  to  enable  us  to  pass 
the  night  less  uncomfortably.  I  assented; — and  the 
young  physician  offered  to  accompany  him.  Al- 
though I  did  not  like  to  be  left  alone,  under  the 
circumstances, — for,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said,  I  was 
not  above  the  control  of  superstitious  feelings, — I  had 
too  much  pride  to  object; — and  they  started  off. 
Hardly  had  they  left  the  house, — indeed  the  echo  of 
their  footsteps  was  still  ringing  in  the  long  passages, 
— when  I  was  startled  by  a  shrill  scream  behind  me. 
I  sprang  from  my  chair,  and  beheld,  as  I  turned 
around,  two  eyes,  gleaming  like  balls  of  fire  in  the 
blackness  of  an  open  window.  They  were  roiling 
and  snapping ; — and  at  every  motion,  they  seemed  to 
scintillate  and  emit  streams  of  lurid  light.  The  first 
thought, — the  only  thought,— that  flashed  across  my 
bram,   was,  that  the  Evil  One,  having  obtained  the 


134  THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE. 

soul  of  old  Hurlson,  had  come  for  his  body.  I  stood 
motionless,  with  my  hands  grasping  the  back  of  the 
chair,  from  which  I  had  arisen, — as  incapable  of 
moving,  for  the  time,  as  a  statue  of  marble,  and  with 
scarcely  more  feeling  in  my  body.  There  was 
another  fearful  scream  at  the  window,  and  a  black 
body  bounded,  with  the  elasticity  of  an  india-rubber 
ball,  across  the  room,  and  alighted  with  a  tearing, 
rasping  sound  upon  the  sheet.  The  blood,  like  liquid 
fire,  at  once  surged  through  my  veins,  and  raising  the 
chair,  I  hurled  it,  with  all  my  force,  at  the  struggling 
mass  in  the  corner,  Avhich  brouo-ht  the  whole  with  a 
crash  to  the  floor; — whereupon  I  tumbled  headlong 
down  the  stairs,  and  headlong  from  the  house.  Be- 
fore getting  out  of  the  yard,  I  met  the  two  young 
men.  They  had  heard  the  uproar,  and  were  hurry- 
ing back  to  ascertain  the  cause.  I  told  them  hastily 
that  Satan  had  come  in  person  and  flown  away  with 
the  body  of  the  deceased,  and  continued  on  my  way 
home, — having  not  the  slightest  wish  to  revisit  the 
scene  of  his  diabolical  work. 

I  heard  the  next  day,  that  an  immense  black  cat 
was  found,  with  its  head  crushed,  lying  by  the  side 
of  the  corpse,  under  a  fragment  of  my  broken  chair. 
Mortified,  as  well  as  shocked,  I  remained  closely  at 
the  store  for  some  time,  attending  to  my  business, — 
and  I  told  the  boys  to  say  nothing  to  me  whatever  on 
the  subject.  Having  a  regard  for  the  soundness  of 
their  bones,  they  strictly  heeded  me.  A  week  or 
two  afterwards  I  met  Kate  Hurlson  upon  the  street: 


THEODOEIC   BURNSIDE.  135 

the  blood  of  her  father,  whom  I  had  so  stigmatized, 
swelled  up  within  her,  I  suppose, — as  she  turned  her 
head  away  indignantly,  and  refused  to  speak  to  me. 
And  so  I  lost  my  last  love ! 


136  THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

Aye,  the  place  may  be  innocent, 
But  to  me  it  looks  murderous. 

The  Captive. 

The  season  had  arrived  for  Burnside's  annual  feast 
to  his  freedmen.  The  day  before  that  grand  event  in 
plantation  life,  he  called  with  May,  upon  the  widow 
to  request  her  attendance.  Harry  was  at  home  w^ith 
his  mother.  They  Avere  sitting  on  the  veranda  enjoy- 
ing the  delightful  breeze  from  the  river,  when  some 
remark  was  made  about  a  shocking  murder  and  rob- 
bery, which  had  recently  occurred  in  one  of  the  lower 
counties.  Burnside  said  that  it  suggested  to  him  a 
most  perilous  adventure  of  his  j^ounger  days.  Upon 
the  urgent  request  of  the  widow,  with  a  quizzical  look 
at  Harry,  he  recounted  the  story  of 

THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    RIVER. 

It  w^as  a  sunny  evening  in  June,  about  the  year 
1850.  I  had  just  graduated,  and  was  waiting  for  the 
departure  of  the  steamer, — which,  after  a  trip  of  about 
five  hundred  miles  down  the  river,  would,  barring  ac- 
cidents, land  me  within  a  few  miles  of  my  home.  In 
rambling  about  the  streets  of  the  city,  enjoying  my 


THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE.  137 

newly-acquired  freedom,  and  my  newly-discovered 
manhood, — I  fancied  I  had  found  the  latter,  just  as  I 
secured  the  former, — with  the  diploma  handed  me  by 
the  president  of  the  college, — I  chanced  to  meet  a 
gentleman,  named  Williams,  from  my  native  town, 
who  was  an  agent  of  the  government,  and  who  ex- 
pected  to  return  by  the  same  boat,  upon  which  I  had 
•engaged  passage.  He  was  forced,  however,  as  he  told 
me,  to  take  a  stage-coach  running  to  a  small  village, 
about  twenty-five  miles  below  ; — and  from  thence  he 
•expected  to  make  his  way,  about  fifteen  miles  farther 
•across  the  country,  to  a  landing  on  the  river,  where 
the  captain  of  the  steamer  had  promised  to  stop  and 
take  him  up.  As  the  distance  by  water  to  the  land- 
ing was  two  or  three  times  as  great  as  that  by  land, 
and  as  the  steamer  would  not  leave  until  the  followino* 

o 

afternoon,  he  had  plenty  of  time,  to  go  by  way  of  the 
village,  attend  to  his  business,  which  was  to  get  from 
a  state-bank,  located  in  that  secluded  place,  gold  or 
silver  to  the  amount  of  several  thousand  dollars,  upon 
drafts  belonging  to  the  government.  He  requested 
me  to  accompany  him.  Eeady  for  anything  that 
promised  adventure,  I  at  once  consented ; — and,  in  a 
"few  hours, — -just  as  the  sun  was  setting  behind  the 
mountains,  which  environed  this  rugged,  but  most 
picturesque  of  southern  cities, — we  were  in  the  coach, 
and  away. 

The  next  morning,  Williams,  after  having  had  the 
m.oney  put  up  in  six  boxes,  each  containing  one  thou- 
sand silver  dollars, — gold  being  more  portable  would 
6* 


138  THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 

have  been  preferred  under  the  circumstances — but  it 
could  not  be  had, — undertook  to  provide  a  conveyance 
to  the  river.  Whether  it  was  because  of  a  camp- 
meeting,  or  some  other  popular  gathering  of  the 
people,  in  the  vicinity,  is  not  now  recollected, — but  no 
sort  of  vehicle  could  be  hired  at  a  public  stable,  or 
obtained  from  anj-  of  the  citizens  of  the  place.  At 
last  the  negro,  whom  Ave  had  employed  as  a  driver, 
and  who  had  been  recommended  to  us  by  the  pres- 
ident of  the  bank,  as  a  person  perfectly  trustworthy, 
told  Williams  of  an  old  carriase,  which  had  been 
standing  unused  under  a  shelter  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
village  for  years,  which  perhaps  might  do,  and  could 
certainly  be  had.  It  was  an  awful-looking  aifair — one 
of  those  old-fashioned  carriages,  w^ith  wheels  large  and 
body  high-swung,  in  which  our  grand-mothers  were 
accustomed  to  ride.  The  paint  upon  its  well-rounded 
and  plethoric  sides  had  become  the  color  of  ashes,  and 
the  shreds  of  its  trimminsfs  and  curtains  fluttered  in 
the  breeze  like  the  dirty  rags  of  the  lowest  beggar 
in  the  streets.  Williams  saw  he  had  to  take  it,  or 
nothing, — and,  after  many  misgivings,  he  determined, 
in  the  crazy  vehicle,  loaded  with  three  full-grown  men 
and  six  thousand  dollars  in  silver, — to  risk  a  journey 
of  fifteen  miles  over  a  road,  rough  and  broken,  and 
what  was  worse,  in  the  event  of  an  accident,  solitary 
and  unfrequented.  But  the  old  carriage  was  not  so- 
bad,  as  it  looked  ; — it  had  been  built  when  good  work 
was  done,  and  good  material  used — and,  during  its  latter 
years,  having  been  kept  well-housed,  it  w^as  sound  and 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE. 


139 


Strong.     At  any  rate,  by  the  aid  of  two  mules,  witli 
improvised   harness,   largely   made   np    of   rope, — it 
carried  us  safely,  over  the  roughness  of  a  dreary  road, 
and  through  the  gloom  of  a  wet  and  cloudy  evening, 
after  a  comfortless  ride  of  about  five  hours,  to  our 
journey's  end.    We  reached  the  Landing  just  before 
night-fall.     It  was  a  long  and  broad  reach  of  sand, 
washed  on  one  side  by  the  river,  and  shut  in  on  the 
other  by  high  mountains.    We  drove  up  to  a  solitary 
house  not  far  from  the  water's  edge,  where  we  ex- 
pected to  get  accommodations,  for  the  night.     It  was 
an  old  frame  building— long-bodied,  and  two-storied— 
which  had  never  been  painted,  and  had  that  dull  and 
sullen  color,  which    such   houses    always  wear,  and 
which  never  fails  to  produce  a  sensation  of  utter  des- 
olation in  the  mind  of  the  beholder,  especially,  when 
it  is  joined  with  other  marks  of  decay.    The  chimney- 
tops  at  either  end  were  rough  and  ragged  from  the 
loss  of  brick,— and  the  roof  had  sunk  in  the  centre, 
until  it  seemed  that  the  weight  of  any  bird,  which 
might  have  the  hardihood  to  settle  there,  would  be 
suflacient  to  bring  it  down  in  ruins  upon  the  heads  of 
its  inmates.     There  were  no  shutters  to  the  doors,  and 
all  of  its  numerous  windows,  without  bhnds  or  sash, 
glared  down,  hollow-eyed  and  ghastly,  upon  the  few 
dwarfed"  and  sickly  trees,  which  were  pretending  to 
grow  in  the  desert-like  yard  beneath  them. 

A  man  showed  himself  in  response  to  our  call,  and 
informed  us  we  could  stay  all  night  if  we  wished,  but 
that  he  could  give  us  nothing  to  eat.     While  we  were 


1-iO  THEODORTC    BURXSIDE. 

talking  with  "him,  a  young  fellow  rushe'l  out,  and, 
catching  from  the  hands  of  the  negro,  one  of  the 
boxes,  which  he  was  removing  from  the  carrijige,  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  dashed  it  to  the  ground,  making 
it  jingle  with  that  music  peculiar  to  coin, — "Mighty 
heavy — what  is  it?"  Williams,  taken  aback  by  the 
abruptness  of  the  action  and  the  question,  hesitated 
and  stammered,  but  immediately  recovering  himself, 
he  said  impressively,  and  with  an  air  of  considerable 
importance, — that  the  boxes  contained  a  new  sort  of 
nail,  which  had  just  been  patented — a  statement  that 
would  hardly  have  been  received  as  truth  by  any  but 
very  ignorant  and  simple-minded  persons.  Ilie  two 
men  returned  to  the  house ;  and  the  driver  carried, 
and  piled  the  money  under  the  bed,  which  was  pointed 
out  as  our  sleeping-place  for  the  night.  Before  mount- 
ing again  to  his  seat  upon  the  carriage,— for  he  said 
he  was  going  immediately  back  home, — he  whispered 
to  us,  that  we  had  better  keep  a  sharp  look-out.  Wil- 
liams tried  to  get  a  light,  but  found  that  lamps  or 
candles,  like  bread  and  meat,  were  luxuries,  which  that 
house  did  not  afford.  So  we  had  to  throw  ourselves, 
lightless  and  supperless,  across  the  hard  bed, — the 
man,  who  had  so  impudently  interfered  with  our  load, 
occupying  a  pallet  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  same 
room.  This  man  was  evidentlj^  very  much  excited — 
perhaps,  thought  I,  by  the  weight  and  ringing  contents 
of  the  boxes.  He  attempted  to  talk  to  us  upon  gen- 
eral topics, — but  like  one  whose  mind  is  engrossed 
with  some  great  and  overwhelming  idea,  he  frequently 


THEODORIC    BURXSIDE.  1-il 

made    remarks    foreign    to    the   subject  of  conversa- 
tion, and  gave  irrelevant  answers  to  plain  questions. 
Notliino-  had  been  said  bv  any  of  us  for  more  than  an 
hour,  when  he  slipped  noiseiesslj^  from  the  room,  and 
was  absent  for  several  minutes.     Upon  his  return  he 
remained  but  a  little  while,  when  he  again  went  out, 
and  was  gone  for  a  still  longer  time.    Williams  asked 
me  if  1  had  a  weapon.     I  told  him  only  a  pocket-knife, 
lie  said  that  he  iiad  brought  in  from  the  yard  a  heavy 
bludgeon,  which,  from  the  indications,  he  supposed  we 
would  need  before  morning.     About  this  time,  I  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep.     How  long  I  continued  in  it,  I  am 
unable  to   say — perhaps  four  or  five  hours.     I  w^as 
awakened  bj^   Williams.     "They  are  coming!"   said 
he  hurriedly  and  excitedly.     I  looked  out  into  the 
darkness.     My  eyes  lor  the  time  being  w^ere  perfectly 
useless — as  in  the  room  there  w^as  not  the  faintest  trace 
of  light.     A  rain  was  being  gently  sifted  from  the 
clouds,  while  a  stiff  breeze  was  humming  ghostly  songs 
all  through  the  old  house.    "  Who  are  coming  ?"  asked 
I.     "The  thieves — we  are  in  a  den  of  robbers" — he 
whispered   breathlesslj^ : — "  Listen  ! "     I  did   so,   and 
heard  an  indistinct  muttering  just  outside  of  where  I 
supposed  the  back-door  to  be — as  of  men  whispering 
together.     Immediately  after  I   could   hear   cat-like 
steps  over  the  floor.     I  held  my  knife  open  in  my 
hand,  as  I  raised  myself  from  the  bed.     Just  at  this 
critical  moment  was  heard  the  deep-toned  scream  of 
the  steamer,  as  it  rounded  a  bend  in  the  river,  a  short 
distance  above  the  landing.     To  me  no  music  could 


l-i2  THEODOEIC   BURNSIDE. 

have  sounded  more  deliciouslj ;  and  the  furnace-fires, 
as  they  glared  from  the  deep  blackness  behind,  and 
shot  a  broad  stream  of  red  light  far  down  the  dark 
waters,  made  up,  under  the  circumstances,  the  most 
beautiful  picture  upon  which  my  eyes  had  ever  rested. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  agent,  with  his  treasure,  and 
myself  had  left  the  old  house,  and  were  standing  at  the 
river's  edge.  The  clouds  were  drifting  slowly  away, 
and  day  was  beginning  to  dawn,  clear  and  bright, 
when  we  found  ourselves  safely  aboard  the  boat,  and 
gliding  swiftly  upon  the  smooth  current  of  the  stream 
in  the  direction  of  home. 

Seated  on  the  deck,  soon  after  breakfast,  Williams 
was  detailing  to  a  small  knot  of  interested  and  atten- 
tive listeners,  the  events  of  the  night, — having  pre- 
faced the  statement  with  the  remark,  that,  by  the 
opportune  arrival  of  the  boat,  he  had  certainly  escaped 
the  clutches  of  a  desperate  band  of  robbers.  An  old 
gentleman,  with  a  bright  eye  and  a  quizzical  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  was  one  of  the  party.  Before 
Williams  had  reached  the  exciting  portion  of  his  nar- 
rative, the  old  man  interrupted  him  by  observing  : — 
"  The  person  who  occupied  the  room  with  you,  talked 
rather  wildly — didn't  he?"  "Yes,"  replied  Williams 
looking  up  in  some  astonishment.  "He  got  up,  and 
went  out  of  the  room  several  times  during  the  night — 
didn't  he?"  "Yes," — responded  the  still  more  sur- 
prised Williams.  "  While  he  was  out  you  heard  much 
strange  whispering — didn't  you?"  "Yes,"  answered 
now  the  astounded  Williams.     "Well,"  said  the  old 


THEODORIC   BURNSIDE.  143 

man,  "I  spent  a  night  there  last  week  myself,  and  that 
was  what  occurred  to  me.  I  had  no  money,  and  con- 
sequently felt  no  great  uneasiness.  Upon  enquiry  the 
next  morning  I  discovered  that  my  singular,  restless 
and  whispering  room-mate  was — insane  ! "  A  laugh 
greeted  the  explanation  of  the  bright-eyed  old  gentle- 
raan, — from  which  explanation  it  appeared,  that  a 
poor  fellow,  half  starved  and  less  than  half  witted, 
made  np  the  vast  crowd  of  thieves  and  assassin,  who 
had  been  supposed  to  skulk  at  midnight  about  the 
doorways  of  the  Old  House  by  the  Kiver." 


114:  THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE. 


CHAPTER   YI. 


The  homes  of  Alabama, 

How  beautiful  thej'  rise, 
Throughout  her  queenly  forest  realm, 

Beneath  her  smiling  skies! 
The  richest  odors  fill  the  breeze, 

Her  valleys  teem  with  wealth, 
And  the  homes  of  Alabama 

Are  the  rosy  homes  of  health. 

A.  B.  Meek. 


Ilarrj  and  liis  mother,  with  a  party  of  the  neigh- 
bors, among  whom  was  a  large  sprinkling  of  young 
men  and  young  ladies,  boys  and  girls,  had  assembled 
at  Singleton,  on  the  morning  of  the  important  occa- 
sion, to  which  reference  was  had  in  the  last  chapter. 
The  day  was  fine,  and  the  crops  on  the  place  all 
having  been  laid  by  clean,  the  negroes,  in  their  holi- 
day attire,  were  bustling  about  the  grounds,  or 
collected  in  groups  around  the  pit-fires  in  the  grove, 
where  the  cooking  was  going  on,  and  the  tables 
spread.  Among  them  smiles  were  universal,  laughs 
plentiful,  and  dancing  by  no  means  wanting.  Burn- 
side,  Harry,  a  Bostonian,  who  had  come  over  at  the 
request  of  a  neighbor,  and  two  or  three  other  gentle- 
men, were  seated,  under  the  trees  in  front  of  the 
house,  regaling  themselves  with  pipes  and  tobacco. 


THEODORIC   BURXSIDE.  145 

"Uncle  The.,"  said  Harry,  "I  understood  that  you 
at  first  thought  of  giving  this  jollification  last  week. 
"What  made  you  postpone  it?" 

"Old  Cc^sar,  my  leader,  told  me,  when  I  consulted 
him  on  the  subject,  that  the  funeral  of  a  still-born 
child  would  take  place  at  Wilson's,  some  six  miles  up 
the  river,  on  the  same  day  that  I  had  selected  for  the 
barbecue,  and  consequently  that  it  wouldn't  do.  He 
said  that  as  much  as  the  negro  loved  barbecue,  he 
loved  funeral  more, — and  that  the  greater  part  of  my 
people,  dinner  or  no  dinner,  would  be  off  to  Wilson's 
that  morning  by  break  of  day.  They  would  do  so, 
Ca?sar  went  on  to  say,  without  conferring  wdth  me,  as 
I  had  made  the  occasion  a  holiday  by  previous  ap- 
pointment. It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  negro  takes 
as  deep  an  interest  in  the  funeral  of  one  of  his  color, 
no  matter  whether  he  has  ever  seen  the  deceased  or 
not,  as  that  with  which,  the  most  violent  partisan  re- 
gards a  gathering  of  his  party -friends  in  a  heated 
political  contest.  They  will  neglect  one  of  their 
brethren  w^hen  sick,  and  yet  pay  him  the  most  elab- 
orate honors  when  dead." 

"Your  freedmen,"  remarked  the  Bostonian,  ad- 
dressing Burn«ide,  "seem  to  be  the  happiest  and  most 
prosperous  lot  of  negroes  in  this  vicinity.  How 
happens  it?" 

"You  ought  not  to  judge  of  them  from  their  ap- 
pearance and  conduct  now.  Of  course  you  see  the 
best  side  of  them  to-day.     I  must  say,  however,  that 

they  are  generally  in  good  spirits  and  good  condition. 

•^  7 


14:6  THEODOEIC   BURXSIDE. 

I  suppose  it  is  because  I  work  tliem  in  such  way,  as 
to  show  them  that  the  plantation  belongs  to  me,  and 
all  that  is  made  on  it." 

"I  should  think,"  responded  the  other,  courteously, 
"that  you  could  take  no  step  more  likely  to  make 
them  dissatisfied." 

"Oh,  no!  In  doing  this, — I  feed  them  mj^self,  and 
they  have  plenty  to  eat, — I  clothe  them  myself,  and 
they  have  plenty  to  wear, — I  pay  them  standing 
was'es,  and.  at  the  end  of  the  vear,  all  of  them  have 
money.  The  planters  hereabouts  generally  work 
upon  a  different  plan: — they  allow  their  freedmen, 
who  feed  and  clothe  themselves,  parts  of  the  crops,  or 
rent  to  them ; — in  such  cases,  the  negro  almost  always 
fares  hard,  and  seldom  has  any  money  at  Christmas, 
and  his  employer,  it  may  also  be  said,  has  but  little 
more.  The  great  overshadowing  vice  of  the  negro  is 
thriftlessness.  He  never  looks  beyond  the  enjoyment 
of  the  present  moment.  Every  step  of  his  remove 
from  the  white  planter  gives  additional  room  for  the 
exercise  of  this  vice.  When  working  for  standing 
wages  he  is  immediately  under  the  eye  and  control  of 
his  employer,  and  generally  does  well, — working  for 
parts  of  the  crop,  he  is  farther  off, — and  renting,  yet 
more  so, — and  here,  especially  in  the  last  instance, 
his  thriftlessness  is  fulty  exemplified  in  the  wreck  of 
improvements,  carelessness  of  cultivation,  and  the 
utter  want  of  every  provision  for  future  contin- 
gencies. Why, — I  have  seen  many  a  negro,  who  did 
not  own  five  bushels  of  corn,  with  which  to  feed  his 


THEODOEIC   BUENSIDE.  147 

family,  and  unable  to  obtain  provisions,  except  upon 
the  surety  of  his  employer,  and  then  only  at  ruinous 
prices,  barter  the  last  grain  to  a  merchant  for  beads, 
ribbons  and  candy.  And  such  instances  are  by  no 
means  rare.  They  are  sufficiently  frequent  to  enable 
one  to  pronounce  them  the  rule.  Of  course  there  are 
exceptions.  Should  the  time  come,"  continued  Burn- 
side,  after  a  pause, — "and  it  now  seems  probable, 
when  Southern  planters  shall  be  forced  to  divide 
their  places,  and  rent  out  to  freedmen,  then  the  time 
has  arrived  for  a  change  of  labor  at  the  South." 

Just  then  came  floating  through  the  green  branches 
of  the  trees — gently — softl}^ — the  opening  notes  of  a 
song  from  the  crowd  of  negroes  circled  about  the  fires 
and  tables  of  the  barbecue.  Now,  a  single  voice 
strong  and  shrill — higher  and  higher  it  rose  until 
wild  and  spiritdike  it  seemed  lost  in  the  clouds, — and 
then  followed  the  deep  diaphason  swell,  as  scores  of 
voices  joined  in  the  chorus,  making  the  woods 
resound  with  a  melody  unequalled  by  that  of  the 
grandest  organ  in  the  grandest  cathedral  of  conti- 
nental Europe. 

It  was  a  signal,  and  announced  that  the  feast  was 
ready.  The  party  of  whites  at  the  house,  headed  by 
Biirnside  and  the  widow,  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
spot.  The  negroes  were  ranged  around  the  tables, 
vigorously  singing,  led  by  old  Cassar,  who  had  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  principal  one,  about  one- 
third  of  which  at  the  other  end  was  kept  vacant  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  whites.     The  tables  were 


148  THEODOEIC   BUEXSIDE. 

covered  all  over  with  barbecued  pigs  and  lambs, 
chicken-pies  and  other  substantial  and  tempting 
viands.  When  Burnside  had  taken  his  position,  im- 
mediately fronting  old  Caesar,  with  his  company 
around  him,  the  latter,  pouring  into  a  glass  whiskey 
enough  to  make  an  ordinary  head  buz,  from  a  huge 
iug  at  his  rig:ht  hand,  said:  "Every  nigorer  will  find 
his  dram  in  de  cup  by  his  plate."  Then  raising  his 
voice  and  his  glass,  he  continued:  "Here's  to  Mars. 
The.  Burnside — de  boss  ob  dis  plantation.  He 
always  burns  wid  truth,  and  sides  wid  de  right.  As 
General  Lee  once  "jaculated,  'Long  may  he  wade' — 
yes,  long  may  he  wade  through  de  muddy  troubles  of 
dis  world — wid  his  head  high  'bove  water." 

"Wade! — it's  wave.  Uncle  Caesar,"  shouted  one  of 
the  negroes,  who  had  been  in  the  war.  "General  Jeb. 
Stuart  said  dat,  in  s'luting  his  battle-flag,  when  he 
could  have  taken  Washington,  but  wouldn't,  'cause 
he  was  'fraid  de  rascality  ob  de  place  would  swamp 
de  Southern  Confederacy." 

"Yes,"  exclaimed  little  Billy,  at  the  side  of  the 
table, — his  black  face  shining  and  his  eyes  rolling, — 
"dat's  it — I  heard  Mars.  Bob  say  it  many  time  when 
he  got  back  from  de  army, — Long  ma}^  he  wabe! 
General  Stuart,  I  guess,  learn  it  from  him." 

Old  C^sar  treated  the  two  adventurous  darkies 
with  a  supercilious  stare  and  a  contemptuous  smile, — 
under  the  effects  of  which  little  Billy  went  headlong 
under  the  table, — and,  without  deigning  any  further 
reply  to  what  he  considered  impertinent  suggestions. 


THEODOPJC    BURXSIDE.  14:9 

said:  "De  boss  will  proceed  wid  liis  part  ob  de  pro- 
gram." Thereupon  Burnside  responded  in  a  few 
words  to  the  toast, — complimenting  the  negroes  upon 
their  industry  and  general  good  behaviour  during  the 
year, — and  concluded  by  telling  them  to  fall  to,  and 
enjoy  themselves. 

The  wliites  remained  a  few  minutes  at  the  table, 
and  then  separating  into  small  parties,  wandered 
about  the  grounds.  Burnside  and  the  widow,  after 
sauntering  for  some  time  under  the  trees,  turned  their 
steps  toward  an  arbor,  in  a  cluster  of  undergrowth 
not  far  from  the  house.  Harry  and  May  were  watch- 
ing them,  and  set  out  for  the  same  place  as  soon  as 
their  victims  had  disappeared  among  the  bushes. 
Moving  slowly,  and  turning  now  slightly  to  the  right, 
and  then  to  the  left,  as  if  they  were  purposeless  in  the 
direction  of  their  walk,  they  reached  the  arbor,  with- 
out being  detected  by  its  inmates,  or  attracting  the 
attention  of  smj  of  the  wandering  parties  in  the 
Avood.  They  stood,  for  several  minutes,  motionless 
by  the  side  of  the  leafy  screen,  and  listened  with 
bated  breath.  They  heard  distinctly  every  word  that 
was  uttered  after  they  had  reached  their  hiding-place. 
Finally  they  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  burst  into 
the  arbor,  to  find  the  head  of  the  widow  gently  pil- 
lowed upon  Burnside's  shoulder,  with  the  exclamation 
from  Harry, — "  Mother — mother ! — how  could  you  do 
it! — is  this  the  end  of  all  your  promises  to  me?" — fol- 
lowed by  the  exclamation  from  May, — "Oh,  you 
deceitful  old  uncle ! — only  last  week  you  said  that  you 


150  THEODORIC   BURNSIDE. 

would  miss  me  Avhen  I  married,  and  now  j^ou'll  not 
miss  me  at  all.     I  will  never  fors^ive  you — never!" 

The  mother  and  uncle  parried  the  badinage  of  their 
favorites  as  well  as  they  were  able;  and  when  the 
four  left  the  arbor  there  was  not  a  happier  party  in 
the  State.  The  next  month  witnessed  a  double  in- 
stead of  a  single  wedding,  at  the  residence  of  the 
widow ;  and  that  home  and  Singleton  simply  made  an 
amicable  and  peaceful  exchange  of  mistresses. 


UNDER  THE  MAGXOLIA. 


UNDER  THE  MAGNOLIA ; 

OR, 

ril    See    You    in    Jericho    First. 

A    SOUTHERN    STORY. 
CHAPTER  I. 

Look  on  this  picture  and  on  that ; 

The  counterfeit  presentment  of  two  brothers. 

Shakspeare. 

For  him  are  brought  into  the  world  two  daughters,  so  beyond  measure  excellent 
in  all  the  gifts  allotted  to  reasonable  creatures,  that  we  may  think  they  were  boru 
to  show  that  Nature  is  no  step-mother  to  that  sex,  how  much  soever  some  men, 
sharp-witted  only  in  evil-speaking,  have  sought  to  disgrace  them. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney. 

"  Where  is  that  graceless  nephew  of  jours?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly;  when  I  last  heard  from 
him  he  was  in  Montgomery." 

"When  do  you  expect  him  here?" 

"Next  week." 

The  foregoing  was  part  of  a  conversation  between 
two  men,  long  past  the  meridian  of  life,  yet  apparently 


152  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

stout  and  vigorous, — one  with  an  empty  sleeve, — wlio 
were  sitting  upon  a  rustic  bencli,  in  tlie  shade  of  a 
wide-spreading  magnolia.  The  tree  was  close  to  the 
porch  of  a  small,  but  tastefully  coustructed  cottage^ 
which  stood  not  far  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  in  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  parts  of  the  Florida  coast,  about 
midway  between  the  cities  of  Mobile  and  Apalachi- 
cola.  This  cottage  was  an  appendage,  and  was  within 
a  stone's  throw  of  a  stately  mansion,  which,  cresting 
the  slight  eminence,  upon  the  slope  of  which  the 
former  was  situated,  looked  far  and  wide  over  the 
blue  waters  of  that  finest  of  American  seas.  A  path- 
way, broad  and  sinuous,  dividing  to  the  west,  the 
smoothly  descending  carpet  of  greensward,  wound,  in 
graceful  curves,  around  the  edges  of  the  clumps  of 
trees,  thickly  covered  and  interlaced  by  flowering 
vines,  Avith  which  the  lawn  was  plentifully  sprinkled. 
The  mansion,  which  was  two  storied,  and  built  in 
w^hat  may  well  be  termed,  at  least  in  this  country,  the 
Southern  style  of  architecture,  consisted  of  white 
walls;  high,  airy  rooms;  large  doors  and  windows, 
protected  by  green  blinds;  broad,  flattened  roofs;  and 
two  ample  halls,  above  and  below,  crossing  each  other 
at  right  angles  in  the  centre,  and  opening  at  either 
end  upon  deep  verandas.  The  building,  with  its  out- 
houses, appropriate  in  color  and  construction,  was  of 
a  piece,  with  the  thousands  of  countr}^  homes,  scat- 
tered over  the  Gulf-States,  of  the  old  Southern  plan- 
ters,— a  grand  old  race  of  men  now  rapidly  and  finally 
disappearing, — except,  it  should  be  remarked,  in  one 


UNDER  THE   MAGNOLIA.  153 

singular  and  striking  respect.  Immediately  over  the 
intersection  of  the  halls,  and  forming  the  roof  of  that 
part  of  the  edifice,  arose  a  dome,— enriched,  within 
and  without,  wath  carved  work  and  mouldings,  and 
having  around  it,  at  regular  intervals,  'circular  open- 
ings filled  with  heavy  stained  glass, — upon  the  top  of 
which  was  placed  an  octagonal  tower  of  considerable 
height,  surmounted  by  a  weather-cock,  fashioned  like 
a  ship,  Avith  spars,  masts  and  rigging.  The  tower 
was  reached  by  narrow  cast  iron  steps  springing  from 
a  platform,  surrounded  by  a  balustrade,  at  the  foot  of 
the  dome,  and  bending  over  its  outer  surface. 

The  two   men,   thus  talking  under  the  magnolia, 
Avere  Charles  Munson  and  Hubert  Brentworth.     They 
were  native  Alabamians,  and  had  been  reared  upon 
adjoining  plantations.     Old  school-fellows,  playmates, 
classmates,    and    roommates,    with    dispositions    and 
tastes,  which  singularly  harmonized,  although  no  two 
persons  could  have  been  more  unlike,  they  had  been 
staunch  friends  from  the  time  of  their  first  recollec- 
tion.    After   they    were   grown   up,    however,   they 
became  Avidely  separated,  and  remained  so  during  the 
whole  of  their  early  manhood.     The  former — Charles 
Munson, — daring  and  adventurous, — had    run   away 
from  home  before  his  education  was  completed;  and, 
from  a  cabin-boy  on  a  merchant  vessel,  had  risen  to 
the  dignity  of  a  mate  and  part  owner.     He  continued 
on  the  sea,  until   by  the   death    of  his   father,   and 
another  near  relative,  he  inherited  a  large  fortune, 
when  he  returned  to  Alabama,  married,  increased  his 


154:  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

property,  by  wise  and  vigorous  management,  removed 
to  Florida,  lost  his  wife  in  giving  birth,  to  her  sixth 
child; — only  two,  however,  survived  her — the  oldest 
and  youngest — both  of  whom  were  now  living  with 
him — the  one'  as  the  housekeeper,  and  the  other  as 
the  ornament  of  the  large  mansion  just  described. 
During  the  period  of  his  wanderings  about  the  world, 
he  became  attached,  by  some  means,  and  in  some  sub- 
ordinate capacity,  to  the  Dead  Sea  Expedition  of 
Lieutenant  Lynch.  While  discharging  his  duties  in 
connection  with  that  undertaking,  upon  the  myste- 
rious waters  covering  the  wicked  cities  of  the  plain, 
he  was  seized  with  violent  sickness,  and  was  removed 
to  Eihah,  or  modern  Jericho.  Occupying  a  hovel  in 
that  wretched  home  of  squalid  and  fikhy  Arabs,  he 
lingered  upon  the  confines  of  life,  for  several  weeks; 
but,  after  suffering  terrible  agonies,  his  naturally 
strong  constitution  overcame  the  disease,  which  had 
fastened  upon  his  system,  and  he  slowly  recovered. 
Like  the  messengers  of  King  David,  he  had  always 
afterward  a  lively  horror  of  the  circumstances,  under 
which  he  was  forced  to  "tarry  awhile  in  Jericho,"  as 
well  as  of  the  town  itself.  An  old  salt, — in  spite  of 
his  early  education,  and  his  later  surroundings, — his 
manner  was  occasionally  rough,  and  his  language 
sometimes  more  pointed  than  elegant.  He  had  also 
acquired  upon  ship-board  the  habit  of  using  certain 
set  phrases,  which,  while  not  exactly  vulgar,  were 
certainly  not  like  the  pearls  and  diamonds  that  fell 
from  the  lips  of  the  good  little  girl  in  the  fairy  tale. 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  155 

One  of  these  was  the  oath, — originating,  no  doubt,  in 
the  spell  of  sickness  referred  to,  and  which,  by  the 
way,  occasioned  the  writing  of  this  veracious  history, 
— ril  see  you  in  Jericho  first!  This  oath,  if  it  can 
be  called  an  oath, — at  any  rate  it  was  his  nearest 
approach  to  swearing, — when  once  uttered  was  final 
as  to  his  action — he  could  not  be  moved  from  the 
position  he  had  taken.  Ordinarily,  however,  both  in 
bearing  and  conversation,  he  showed  himself  to  be 
not  only  an  intelligent  and  sensible,  but  a  cultivated 
and  generous  man. 

The  latter, — Hubert  Brentworth, — became  a  small 
farmer  in  one  of  the  northern  counties  of  Alabama. 
A  genial-hearted,  mild-tempered  and  strong-minded 
old  bachelor,  with  no  one  especiallj^  to  care  for,  except 
a  nephew,  who,  already  motherless,  had  been  be- 
queathed to  his  guardianship  and  affection,  by  a 
dying  brother, — save  himself  the  last  surviving  mem- 
ber of  his  family, — he  remained  closely  at  home, 
attended  strictly  to  his  business,  taught  his  nephew, 
by  precept  and  example,  to  be  a  gentleman,  sent  him 
to  the  University,  and  upon  his  graduation,  much 
against  the  wishes  and  tastes  of  the  young  man,  in- 
duced him  to  read  law,  which,  for  some  months  now 
he  had  been  pretending  to  practice  in  the  courts  of 
that  gem  of  a  city,  Montgomery.  Hubert  Brent- 
worth lost  his  left  arm  at  Manassas.  Upon  the  close 
of  the  war,  having  met  his  friend  Charles  Munson  in 
Mobile,  he  was  persuaded  by  him  to  become  his  com- 
panion,   and    assistant    in    the    management   of    his 


156  UNDEE   THE    MAGXOLIA. 

extensive  business.  Hence  liis  domestication  in  the 
small  cottage  at  Fairslope,  by  the  side  of  which  he 
and  Charles  Munson  Avere  seen  talkino-  on  that  bright 
day  in  the  spring  of  187 — . 

"Your  nephew  is  a  lazy  dog,  I  have  heard,"  good- 
hnmoredly  said  the  old  sailor,  resuming  the  conversa- 
tion. "  He  reads  more  poetry  than  he  does  law,  it 
appears ;  and  practices  at  the  graces  more  than  at  his 
profession." 

"He'll  get  over  all  that,"  cheerfully  replied  Hubert 
Brentworth.  "He  is  simply  sowing  his  wild-oats;, 
and  I  don't  think  he  has  many  of  them  to  sow,  and  I 
know  none  of  them  are  bad." 

"It  is  reported  that  he  is  extremely  handsome — 
vanity  may  have  something  to  do  with  his  want  of 
serious  application,"  observed  Charles  Munson. 

"He  is  certainly  handsome,  as  his  father  was  before 
him,"  rejoined  Hubert  Brentworth.  "Straight  as  an 
Indian,  tall,  fall-chested, — his  head — a  fine  one — set 
upon  broad  shoulders  with  the  grace  of  the  Apollo- 
Belvedere, — he  is  a  striking  looking  man  in  any 
crowd.  But  I  hope,  in  disposition,  he  is  not  what 
you  suggest ;  and  I  do  not  believe  he  is :  if  I  am  mis- 
taken, however,  and  he  be  somewhat  vain  and  idle,, 
he  is  yet  very  young, — only  twenty-three, — and,  I 
am  sure,  that  a  few  years,  with  opportunities,  will 
correct  these  failmgs  in  one,  whose  judgment,  as  a 
general  thing,  is  so  sound,  and  Avhose  principles  so 
good." 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause,  knocking  the 


UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  157 

jislies  out  of  his  pipe,  "handsome  is  as  handsome 
does,  3^011  know.  I  think  you  handsome;  and  yet," 
continued  he,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  of  the  eye, 
"one,  Avho  did  not  know  you,  woukl  be  surprised  at 
hearing  such  a  remark  from  me,  when  he  looked 
upon  that  rugged  and  weather-beaten  countenance. 
But,"  as  the  door  of  his  residence  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way  opened,  "here  comes  Mary  and  Grace 
equipped  for  an  evening's  walk." 

The  young  ladies  crossed  over  to  where  the  old 
gentlemen   were   sitting.     The   elder,    Mary,    though 
young,  was  old  enough  to  merit  and  obtain  from  Mrs. 
Grundy,   the   unpopular   and   unpoetic  name   of  old 
maid;  it  needed,  however,  but  a  look  at  her  round, 
graceful   and  well- developed  figure,— and   especially 
but  a  single  look  into  her  sweet  face,  on  Avhich  sat 
the  evidences  of  a  pure  mind  and  heart,  to  satisfy  any 
one  that  she  was  an  old  maid  from  choice,  not  neces- 
sity; and  the  marks  of  quiet,  subdued,  but  genuine 
happiness,  which  serenely  beamed  in  her  soft  blue 
eyes,  and  lurked  in  the  dimples  playing  around  her 
smihng  mouth,  said,  almost  as  plainly  as  words,  that 
there  had  been   much  less   of   sorrow,   and   perhaps 
more  of  joy,  in  her  hfe,  than  were  generally  found  in 
the  hves  of  those,  who,  in  the  world's  view,   were 
more    blessed— those,    in    short,    who    had    become 
mothers  in  Israel.     But  the  younger  sister  I— what  of 
her?     As  she  stood  there  by  her  old  father,  one  fair 
hand  resting  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  other  play- 
ing with  his  gray  hair,  every  outline  a  beauty,  and 


158  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

ever}^  motion  a  grace,  she  appeared  exactl}^  the  girl 
to  run  a  young  man  mad.  Grace  Munson  was 
scarcely  eighteen;  and  she  impressed  every  one,  who 
approached  her,  as  being  indeed  marvellous^  beauti- 
ful. And  this  impression  was  not  so  much  the  result 
of  a  rare  combination  of  perfect  form  and  faultless 
feature,  although,  in  her,  was  found  this  combination, 
to  its  full  extent,  heightened  too  in  effect  b}^  a  wealth 
of  golden  hair,  which  some  one  had  very  aptly 
termed  "rippling  sunshine,"  and  which,  in  its  curling 
abundance,  no  art  could  control  and  therefore  mar  in 
its  wild  and  exuberant  loveliness; — as  it  was  the 
result  of  the  truth  displayed  in  the  broad,  open  brow, 
the  gentle  firmness  visible  in  the  delicately  chiselled 
lips,  and  the  intelligence  and  goodness  shining  in  the 
clear,  lambent  light  of  two  dark  brown  eyes,  which 
had  the  faculty,  in  the  unshrinking  purity  and  cour- 
age of  the  nature  behind  them,  to  look  straightly  and 
steadily  into  the  ej^es  of  those  with  whom  she  was 
talking — seeming  to  read  the  most  hidden  secrets  of 
their  souls. 

Saying  a  good-bye  to  Hubert  Brentworth,  the  old 
sailor  and  his  daughters  moved  slowly  down  the  path- 
way in  the  direction  of  the  Gulf.  The  former 
watched  them,  with  a  look  of  affection,  which  seemed 
to  belong  to  his  pleasant  and  amiable  face,  until  they 
passed  behind  a  cluster  of  trees  at  the  foot  of  the 
lawn.  He  saw  them  again  when  they  reached  the 
sands  of  the  beach,  with  the  red  light  of  the  setting 
sun  falhng  upon  them.  As  they  turned  their  steps 
homcAvard,  he  arose  and  entered  his  cottage. 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  159 


CHAPTER  II. 


I  begin  shrewdly  to  suspect  the  young  man  of  a  terrible  taint— poetry ;  with 
which  idle  disease  if  he  be  infected,  there  is  no  hope  of  him  in  a  state  course.  Actum 
est  of  him  for  a  commonwealth's  man,  if  he  go  to  it  in  rhyme  once. 

Bex  Jonson. 


Under  the  magnolia  again  !  Hubert  Brentwortli 
and  his  nephew  occupied  the  favorite  seat  (»f  the  old 
man  under  the  favorite  tree.  Guy  had  bnt  recently 
reached  Fairslope.  It  was  a  splendid  morning,  a  few 
days  after  the  conversation  detailed  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  A  rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  impart- 
ing life  and  beauty  to  the  leaves  and  flowers,  and 
coolness  and  balminess  to  the  atmosphere.  Hundreds 
of  light  feathery  clouds  were  drifting  slowly  across 
the  sky,  while  a  gentle  breeze  made  the  glossy  leaves 
of  the  princely  tree  flash  like  a  coronal  of  diamonds 
in  the  sunshine.  Far  out  in  the  Gulf  could  be  plainly 
seen  a  gallant  ship,  with  all  canvas  spread, — a  pyramid 
of  snow, — speeding  over  the  glittering  waters.  An- 
other, still  more  distant,  appeared  a  mere  speck  upon 
the  western  horizon. 

"How  have  you  been  getting  along  in  your  profes- 
sion, Guy  ?  "  at  length  enquired  Hubert  Brentworth. 


160  UXDER    THE    :irAGXOLIA. 

^'Yon  know  my  heart  is  fixed  upon  your  becoming  a 
great  lawyer ;  but  I  fear  you  have  been  sadly  wasting 
time,  and  neglecting  opportunities." 

"  Well,  uncle,"  responded  Guy,  "to  speak  upon  the 
square,  I  haven't  been  getting  along  at  all.  While  I 
have  steadily  refrained  from  taking  any  part  of  the 
principal  of  the  small  property  left  me  by  my  father, 
and  invested  for  me  by  you,  when  I  was  a  boy, — 
making;  the  interest,  some  five  or  six  hundred  dollars, 
meet  all  my  expenses, — I  have  added  nothing  to  it. 
During  the  few  months  that  I  have  waited  upon  the 
courts,  I  have  not  had  a  single  case.  And,  however 
humiliating  the  confession,  I  can't  say  I  regret  it.  As 
we  are  talking  now  upon  the  subject,  I  want  to  make 
a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter  before  we  leave  it. 
I  love  reading ;  but  it  is  a  desultorj^,  miscellaneous, 
good-for-nothing  sort  of  reading,  that  I  am  fond  of. 
I  have  no  taste  Avhatever  for  the  law,  and  have  only 
continued  at  it  hitherto,  through  deference  to  your 
wishes,  desiring,  though  scarce  hoping,  that  something 
might  turn  up  to  alter  my  fancies  and  feelings  with 
regard  to  it.  Its  dry  details  are  repulsive  to  me.  The 
subjects  discussed  are  not  only  uninteresting,  but  the 
way,  in  which  they  are  treated,  is  more  so.  My  dis- 
inclination to  read  what  is  so  unattractive,  in  matter 
and  manner,  is  increased  by  an  impatience  arising  from 
a  conviction  that  the  latter  is  unnecessary.  Facts,  not 
especially  fascinating  in  themselves,  may  be  made,  at 
least,  endurable  to  the  general  reader  by  a  felicitous 
grouping  or  presentation.     It  is  hard  to  find  any  sub- 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  161 

ject,  in  a  law-book,  more  unpromising  of  interest  tlian 
those  of  certain  of  Macaulay's  Essays — The  Utilitarian 
Theory  of  Government  or  Bentham's  Defence  of  Mill, 
for  instance, — and  yet  his  style  is  such,  as  to  render 
these  articles  scarcely  less  attractive  than  the  finest 
scenes  in  Scott's  or  Bulwer's  novels.  But  it  does  not 
need  to  go  out  of  the  law,  to  show  what  can  and  ought 
to  be  done  for  the  law  by  its  writers.  It  is  sufficient 
to  point  to  Blackstone.  It  seems  to  me,  with  the 
single  exception  just  mentioned,  that  law-writers  are 
guilty  of  these  literary  sins, — these  crimes  against 
good  taste,  in  the  preparation  of  their  works, — pre- 
meditatedly,  and  with  malice  aforethought, — simply 
with  the  view  of  driving  off  the  general  reader,  and 
thereby  keeping  among  themselves  a  knowledge  of 
the  mysteries  of  that  great  science,  as  they  compla- 
cently call  it,  by  which  they  have  been  enabled  so  long 
and  so  effectually  to  humbug  the  people." 

Guy  stopped,  out  of  breath.  As  his  uncle  did  not 
immediatel}^  ^eply,  but  continued  vigorously  to  smoke, 
he,  following  with  his  eyes  the  wreaths  of  vapor,  pro- 
pelled sharply  upward  from  the  pipe,  by  a  succession 
of  testy  whiffs,  said  softly,  by  way  of  finale : 

"  Oh  the  twi  stings  and  turnings, 
And  wiles  not  a  few, 
Of  legal  profoundness ; 
I'll  bid  ye  adieu." 

''You  seem,  Guy,"  mildly  rejoined  the  old  man  after 
a  silence  of  some  minutes, — "  you  seem  to  have  taken 


162  rXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

a  spite  against  the  law,  because  its  writers  have  failed 
to  make  their  works  as  pleasant  to  readers,  as,  in  your 
judgment,  they  might  have  done.     But  while  I  shall 
not  dispute,  that  what  vou  sav  of  these  writers  is  true, 
I  will  suggest  that  the  Macaulian  illustration,  with 
which  you  attempt   to   enforce  it,  is  not  altogether 
appropriate.     A  theory  of  government  is  a  theme  de- 
cidedly more  dignified,  and  presents  a  field  much  more 
capable  of  being  worked  up  into  the  picturesque,  than 
any  branch  of  common  or  statutory  law, — than,  say, 
contracts,  remainders  or  executory  devises.     Nothing, 
however,   that   vou    have   said  has   anvthins^   to   do 
with  the  main  question.     Stripped  of  all  unnecessary 
verbiage,  my  dear  boy,  that  question  is  simpl}^  this : 
whether  Guy   Brent  worth   has   energy   and  force  of 
mind  sufficient  to  master  these  writers,  just  as  they 
are, — whether  he  has  the  patience  and  self-denial  to 
forego,  in  youth,  what  is  pleasant  for  what  is  useful, 
— whether,  in  a  word,  he  has  the  manhood  to  prefer, 
to  the  mess  of  pottage  of  to-day,  however  temptingly 
dished  up,  a  legacy  difficult  of  attainment,  and  remote 
in  benefit,  but  solid  and  valuable  when  secured.     I 
speak  earnestly,  Guy,  because  I  feel  deeply.    You  have 
the  ability  and  soundness  of  moral  principle  to  be  all 
I  wish  you  ; — what  is  needed  is  application.     You 
understand  the  reasons  of  my  urgency  on  this  subject : 
they  have  been  given  you  time  and  again.    I  will  add 
but  a  word  or  two  further.     Leaving:  out  of  view  the 
fact  that  the  law  opens  a  sure  road  to  riches,  as  well 
as  almost  the  onh'  road  to  high  preferment  in  the 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  163 

State,  it  deserves  the  regard  of  the  one,  who  has  chosen 
it  for  his  profession,  because  it  is  one  of  the  great 
nurseries  of  the  spirit  of  freedom.  Did  you  ever  read 
what  Burke  said  upon  this  point  in  one  of  his  speeches 
on  the  American  war  ?  "  He  went  into  the  cottage 
and  returned  ahnost  instantly  with  a  volume  in  his 
hand.  Seating  himself,  he  read  Guy  the  following 
fine  passage : 

'"Permit  me,  sir,  to  add  another  circumstance  in 
our  Colonies,  which  contributes  no  mean  part  towards 
the  growth  and  effect  of  this  untractable  spirit.  I 
mean  their  education.  In  no  country  perhaps  in  the 
world  is  the  law  so  general  a  study.  The  profession 
itself  is  numerous  and  powerful,  and  in  most  provinces 
it  takes  the  lead.  The  greater  number  of  the  deputies 
sent  to  the  Congress  were  lawyers.  But  all  who  read, 
and  most  do  read,  endeavor  to  obtain  some  smattering 
in  that  science.  I  have  been  told  by  an  eminent  book- 
seller, that  in  no  branch  of  his  business,  after  tracts  of 
devotion,  were  so  manv  books  as  those  on  the  law 
imported  to  the  plantations.  The  colonists  have  now 
fallen  into  the  way  of  printing  them  for  their  own  use. 
I  heard  that  nearly  as  many  of  Blackstone's  Commen- 
taries had  been  sold  in  America  as  in  England.  *  ^  * 
Aheunt  studia  mores.  This  study  renders  men  acute, 
inquisitive,  dexterous,  prompt  in  attack,  ready  in  de- 
fence, full  of  resources.  In  other  countries,  the  people 
more  simple,  and  of  a  less  mercurial  cast,  judge  of  an 
ill  principle  in  government  only  by  an  actual  griev- 
ance ;  here  they  anticipate  the  evil,  and  judge  of  the 


16-i  UNDER   THE    MAGXOLIA. 

pressure  of  the  grievance  by  the  badness  of  the 
principle.  They  augur  misgoveriiment  at  a  distance, 
and  snuff  the  approach  of  tyranny  in  every  tainted 
breeze.' " 

Guy  was  strongly  impressed  with  the  soundness  of 
his  uncle's  views,  as  well  as  the  parental  affection 
manifested  in  the  earnestness,  with  which  they  were 
expressed.  He  could  not  refrain,  however,  from  as- 
suming that  air  of  affected  indifference,  which  had 
become  habitual  to  him,  while  he  negligently  hummed : 

"Thronghout  its  musty,  d  isty  store. 
The  law's  a  bore — the  law's  a  bore  ; 
The  wrong  to  guard,  the  right  defeat. 
The  law's  a  cheat — the  law's  a  cheat." 

"But,  uncle,"  continued  he  feelingly,  when  he  ob- 
served the  troubled  expression  upon  the  old  man's 
face, — "don't  take  the  matter  to  heart — it  will  all  come 
right  in  the  end,  I  dare  say :  and  to  give  you  some 
little  comfort  in  the  meantime,  I  will  tell  you,  what  I 
have  never  told  3"0u  before,  that,  as  much  as  T  dislike 
the  law,  I  have  studied  hard,  and  am  passingly  well 
grounded  in  all  of  its  elementary  principles.  There 
now — take  heart,  and  look  up,  and  be  yourself  again." 

"  Guy,"  at  length  said  Hubert  BrentAvorth  anxiously, 
"I  am  deeply  grieved  at  your  course.  I  am  sure  3^ou 
are  not  cold-hearted  and  selfish,  yet  one  hearing  j^ou 
talk,  who  did  not  know  you,  would  think  so.  Passing 
over  for  the  present  the  dissatisfaction  on  my  part 
arising  from  your  antipathy  to  professional  duties  and 


UXDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  165 

obligations,  I  must  say  to  you  seriously,  that  I  don't 
fancy  the  easy  and  indolent  indiflterence,  with  which 
you  greet  grave  argument,  when  it  chances  not  to 
please  you,  and  the  scraps  of  bad  verse,  with  which 
you  attempt  to  turn  it  aside.  And  you  have  pained 
me,  Guy,  in  another  respect,  to  which  I  will  call  your 
attention,"  continued  he  faintly  smiling,  "as  your 
faults,  at  this  time  are  under  consideration.  The  tenor 
of  your  late  letters  leads  me  to  believe  that  you  have 
turned  woman-hater." 

"No,  not  woman-hater,"  observed  Guy.  "My  feel- 
ing toward  the  sex  is  one  of  perfect  indifference.  I 
am  simph^  a  woman-shunner." 

"It  amounts  to  pretty  much  the  same  thing  in 
effect,"  said  Hubert  Brentworth.  "A  want  of  regard 
or  respect  for  female  character,  in  a  young  man,  ar- 
gues something  radically  wrong  at  his  heart.  I  do 
not  think  this  of  you.  I  am  inclined  to  suppose  that 
this  talk  forms  one  of  jonv  numerous  affectations. 
Be 'this  as  it  may,  it  is  likely  to  produce  consequences, 
of  which  I  cannot  think  without  great  sorrow.  I  am 
an  old  bachelor, — the  reason  why  I  will  perhaps  tell 
you  before  I  get  through, — it  was  not,  however,  I  will 
say  now,  through  indifference  to  woman,  or  objection 
to  marriage.  I  have  felt  the  want  of  a  wife  to  com- 
fort and  cheer  me  in  my  weary  pilgrimage  upon  earth, 
and  have  seen  how  much  more  profitable  my  little 
span  of  existence  would  have  been,  had  I  been  blessed 
with  one,  and  with  children  'like  olive  branches  about 
mj  table.'     I  have  been  a  lonely — lonely  old  man,  and 


166  UNDEE   THE    MAGXOLIA. 

I  fear  almost  a  wortliless  one ;  and  this  sense  of  lone- 
liness, and  of  being  an  '"unprofitable  servant,'  will  be 
immeasnrablj  increased,  if  von,  my  son,  tlie  centre  of 
all  my  hopes  and  wishes,  fail  in  the  future  which  I 
have  pictured  for  you." 

B}^  a  poAverful  effort,  the  incorrigible  young  man 
prevented  any  display  of  feeling  at  these  affectionate 
and  touching  words,  and  rollickingly  said : 

"Tell  me  at  once,  uncle,  to  whom  you  wish  to  marry 
me.  Is  it  to  one  of  the  fancy  beauties  of  the  city — 
all  stays  and  laces — whose  heart,  like  a  dry  mustard 
seed,  will  bear  with  serenity  all  my  peccadilloes — or, 
to  some  round  and  buxom  country  girl,  down  here  in 
Florida,  who,  after  instructing  me  in  the  bucolic  mys- 
teries of  plowing  and  hoeing,  will  introduce  me  to 
those  of  domestic  economy, — house-warming,  house- 
cleaning  and  house-keeping, — to  the  spirited  music  of 
a  rattling  tongue  and  a  ringing  poker, — or,  to  a  sort 
of  Countess  of  Drogheda,  who  will  kindly  permit  me 
to  meet  a  select  circle  of  my  friends,  for  purposes  of 
relaxation  and  amusement,  provided  the  place  of  meet- 
ing, like  that  accorded  to  poor  Wycherly,  be  within 
full  and  eas}^  view  of  the  windows  of  her  ladyship's 
chamber, — or,  to  a  Jezebel,  who  will  teach  me  the 
lawyer-like  trick  of  getting  another  man's  homestead, 
against  his  will,  and  without  the  paltry  inconvenience 
of  paying  for  it, — or  ? "' 

"Such  talk,  Guy,"  said  the  old  man,  patiently,  and 
mildly,  interrupting  him,  "is  only  nonsense.  I  have 
no  wish  to  marry  you  to  any  one  ;  but  I  do  wish  you 


^.  UXDEK   THE    MAGNOLIA.  167 

to  marry  yourself  to  some  true  woman, — they  are  to 
be  found  all  around  you, — under  the  sunny  influence 
of  whose  loving  presence,  the  crust  of  apathetic  aftec- 
tation,  which  has  formed  over  your  better  nature,  will 
be  broken  up,  and  the  imprisoned  waters  stimulated 
into  a  warm  and  healthy  flow.     Ah  !  Guy,  trust  me, 

such  a  wife,  whose  faith  and  confidence " 

"Faith  and  confidence!"  recklessly  interposed  Guy : 

"  '"Woman's  faith  and  woman's  trust, — 
Write  the  characters  in  dust, 
Print  them  in  the  running  stream, 
Stamj)  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
And  each  eyanescent  letter 
Shall  be  firmer,  fairer,  better, 
And  more  durable,  I  ween, 
Than  the  thing  those  letters  mean.' 

The  only  objection  I  have  to  these  lines,"  added  Guy, 
"  is,  that  they  are  not  sufficiently  comprehensive." 

"You  ought  to  have  a  much  graver  objection,  my 
boy,"  said  his  uncle  ; — "  they  are  put  in  the  mouth  of 
one,  who  was  half  a  savage,  and  wholly  a  murderer." 

That  last  remark  took  all  the  impudence  out  of 
Guy.  For  some  time  he  had  evinced  much  restive- 
ness  ;  now  abashed  and  confused,  he  said  : 

"Do,  uncle,  let  us  talk  about  something  else." 
Looking  over  at  Charles  Munson's  fine  residence,  he 
continued:  "That  is  certainly  a  beautiful  home  ;  and 
yet  it  is  a  very  singular  house ; — all  the  most  common 
and  plainest  architectural  rules  are  violated,  too,  in  its 
construction.    The  incongruities,  however,  about  it, — 


163  UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

a  dome  rising  upon  avails  completely  surrounded  bj 
ornamented  verandas,  and  the  tower  with  its  ship  for 
a  weather-vane, — add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
whole.  But  the  name  of  the  ship,"  said  Guy,  looking 
at  the  gilt  letters  upon  its  side,  "is  rather  the  strangest 
thing  of  all.  Jericho  I — ^what  in  the  world  induced 
your  friend  so  to  christen  it  ?  He  could  have  found 
a  name  equally  as  fit,  and  decidedly  more  musical." 

"I  am  responsible  for  the  name,"  replied  his  uncle. 
"The  dome,  tower  and  ship  were  improvements  made 
bv  order  of  Munson  to  the  house,  after  it  came  into 
his  possession.  The  putting  up  of  the  ship  was  a  kind 
of  pet  undertaking — a  labor  of  love — with  him,  for 
which,  indeed,  I  believe  the  dome  and  tower  were 
mainly,  if  not  entirely,  erected.  Owing  to  the  dis- 
tance from  the  ground  the  vane  appears  small ;  but  it 
is  really  about  eight  feet  in  length,  and  is  made  of 
copper  throughout.  It  was  the  work  of  a  jeweler  in 
Mobile,  and  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  mechanism.  Just 
before  it  was  finished,  he  asked  me  to  furnish  him  a 
suitable  name  for  it.  For  reasons  which  jou  will  un- 
derstand, before  you  are  here  many  days,  I  gave  him 
Jericho,  without  any  thought  of  his  adopting  the  sug- 
gestion. The  idea,  however,  seemed  to  strike  him; 
and  the  maker  had  immediate  instructions  so  to  letter 
it.  The  ship  up  there,  as  you  say,  looks  well ;  but 
even  if  it  did  not,  I  would  still  regard  this  piece  of 
old-sailor-like  eccentricity  with  respect." 


UNDER    THE    MAGXOLIA.  169 


CHAPTER  III. 


Olar.d!  Oland! 

For  all  the  hroken-liearted ; 

The  mildest  herald  by  uur  fate  allotted, — 
Beckons,  and,  with  inverted  torcdi,  duth  stand, 
To  lead  lis  with  a  gentle  hand, 

Into  the  laud  of  the  great  departed, — 

Into  the  Silent  Land! 

Uhland. 


Ker  lips  though  they  kept  close  with  modest  silence,  yet  with  a  pretty  kind  of 

swelling,  seemed  to   invite  the  guests  that  looked  on  them;  her  cheeks  Idushing 

when  she  was  spoken  unto,  a  Utile  smiling,  were  like  roses,  when  their  leaves  are 

with  a  little  breath  stirred. 

Sir  Philip  Sidxey. 


"But,  Guy,"  said  Hubert  Brentwortli,  "let  us  re- 
turn for  a  few  moments,  to  the  subject,  which 
troubles  me  so  much, — your  feeling"  and  conduct  to- 
wards  woman.  I  have  said  that  I  would  perhaps  tell 
you  the  reason  why  I  am  an  old  bachelor.  I  do  not 
like  to  recur  to  the  past  incidents  of  my  rather  profit- 
less life;  and  it  is  especially  painful  for  me  to  recall 
this  one.  The  slory,  however,  may  assist  in  bringing 
about  the  change  in  you,  which  I  so  much  desire 
to  see ;  and  you  shall  have  it. 

"  Ahce  Wayneley, — ^you  have  heard  the  name  Guy, 
— lived  with  a  widowed  mother  upon  a  small  farm 
8 


170  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

near  that  of  my  father.  The  house  was  a  neat,  vine- 
clad  cottage,  standing  some  distance  back  from  the 
public  road,  and  was  surrounded  by  apple  trees.  It 
seems  to  me  now  that  those  trees  were  always  bright 
and  fragrant  with  blossoms.  Alice  was  one  of  the 
SAveetest  and  loveliest  of  G-od's  creatures.  She  was 
as  fair  as  a  lity,  and  as  dependent  and  delicate  as  the 
clasping  tendril  of  the  most  fragile  vine.  I  am  sure 
she  never  had  a  thought  that  was  not  pure, — never 
uttered  a  word  that  was  not  kind, — and  never  per- 
formed an  act  that  was  not  unselfish.  The  very 
atmosphere  about  her  seemed  redolent  of  peace  and 
gentleness.  I  cannot  now  recall  the  moment  when  I 
was  not  in  love  with  her.  Eaised  as  children  to- 
gether, between  us  there  was  no  formality, — to  her  I 
was  always  Hugh, — to  me  she  Avas  always  Alice.  As 
we  grcAv  up,  until  I  Avent  aAvay  to  school,  I  Avalked 
with  her,  rode  AA^th  her,  was  her  chosen  knight  upon 
all  fishing  frolics,  at  all  pic-nics,  and  in  all  nutting 
expeditions.  I  gathered  up  good  books  for  her, — 
she  Avas  particularly  fond  of  poetry,  Avorks  of  travel 
and  history, — and  we  read  them  together,  and,  what 
Avas  equally  as  well,  talked  about  them  afterAvards. 
Much  of  my  loA^e  for  English  literature,  and  Avhat 
little  proficiency  I  have  made  in  it,  I  attribute  to 
those  early  studies,  the  memory  of  Avhich  CA^en  noAV 
lends  an  additional  charm  to  every  volume  of  a  sim- 
ilar character,  Avhich  I  chance  to  read.  When  I 
returned  from  school, — called  home  before  I  had  com- 
pleted the  collegiate  course  of  study,  by  my  father's 


UXDER   THE    MAGXOLIA.  171 

death, — she  had  not  'improved  out  of  my  knowledge,' 
— she  was  just  the  fair,  delicate  and  trusting  young 
woman,  that  was  promised  by  her  girlhood.  I  knew 
she  loved  me, — but  I  knew,  at  the  same  time,  that 
her  love  for  me  was  rather  that  of  a  sister,  than  that 
of  a  woman  for  the  man,  whom  she  was  willino-  to 
marry.  I  had  no  fears,  however,  for  the  result.  I 
was  sure  that  this  love  would  end  in  the  other,  and 
that  she  would  become  the  blessing  of  my  life.  This 
merging  of  what  is  called  sisterly  aifection  into  wifely 
love  oftener  happens  in  this  world  than  poets  and 
novelists  would  have  us  believe.  And,  no  doubt,  it 
would  have  occurred  in  this  case, — had  she  not  met 
Eobert  Kingsley. 

"He   came  to  our  neio'hborhood   on   a  visit   to  a 

a 

college-mate.  He  was  five  or  six  je'dvs  older  than  I 
was, — about  your  age  now,  Gruy, — much  such  a  look- 
ing man  as  you  are, — thought,  as  you  do,  about 
Avoman,  though  he  did  not  shun  the  sex, — but  had  a 
heart — well — a  heart,  which  I  trust  yours  does  not  at 
all  resemble.  A  party  was  given  soon  after,  and  in 
honor  of,  his  arrival,  at  his  friend's  home;  and  there 
he  saw  Alice  Waynelcy.  He  devoted  himself  to  her. 
Candid  and  open  in  her  nature,  it  required  no  great 
penetration  on  my  part  to  see,  before  the  crovv'd  of 
young  people  dispersed,  that  she,  whom  I  had  loved 
all  my  life,  and  for  whose  sake  I  would  willingly  have 
sacrificed  it,  w^as  lost  to  me  forever.  After  this, 
during  his  stay  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  Par- 
sonage, as  Alice's  home  was  called  by  the  neighbors, 


172  UNDEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

in  complimeut  to  her  father,  who  had  been  a  minister 
of  the  gospeL  Boy  though  I  was,  w^orcls  can  never 
tell  the  agony  I  endured.  To  me  then  the  desolation 
of  mj  life  seemed  complete.  ]\[y  sufterings,  however, 
were  never  obtruded  upon  Alice.  I  staid  away  from 
her.  Under  the  circumstances,  perhaps  she  hardly 
missed  me.  When  we  met,  which  was  but  seldom,  I 
acted  towards  her  as  I  had  always  been  accustomed 
to  act  from  my  boyhood. 

"I  had  been  out  hunting,  and  in  returning  home, 
one  bright  evening,  I  had  to  pass  close  to  the  Par- 
sonage. Ah ! — how  well  do  I  remember  that  evenmg, 
and  all  that  I  then  felt  and  saw.  When  I  clambered 
upon  the  fence,  which  separated  me  from  the  high- 
way, I  observed  Alice  and  Kingsley,  some  distance 
away,  w^alking  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
The  birds  were  singing  joyously  in  the  green  trees, 
which  thickly  lined  and  overshadowed  the  smooth 
sandy  road.  Clusters  of  wild-roses,  in  the  fence 
corners,  added  a  spiciness  to  the  fragrance,  which  ^^-as 
wafted  to  me  from  the  sea  of  apple  blossoms  across 
the  way.  In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  gate. 
I  saw  him  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  press  his 
lips  to  her  forehead,  as  he  bade  her  adieu.  That  was 
the  last  time  they  were  ever  seen  together.  He  went 
back,  the  next  day,  to  the  gay  w^orld,  and  returned  no 
more.  He  forgot  the  fair  young  country  flower  that 
bloomed  for  him, — forgot  the  flower  that  withered 
for  him, — forgot  the  flower  that  died  for  him!  In 
less  than  tw^elve  short  months  from  that  evening,  the 


UNDEK   THE    MAGNOLIA.  173 

violets  were  making  green  witli  tlieir  leaves,  and 
making  fragrant  witli  their  flowers,  the  sod  that 
covered  all  that  was  mortal  of  Alice  ■Waynele3^ 
And  in  that  grave,"  concluded  Hubert  Brentworth, 
sjiellv, — ''  was  forever  buried  the  best  part  of  my  life. 
Guv,  my  son,  take  to  your  heart  the  moral  of  this 
story." 


174  UXDEE   THE   MAGNOLIA. 


CHAPTEE  lY. 


Her  air,  lier  manuers,  all  who  saw  admired, 
Courteous,  tiiuugh  coy,  aud  geutle,  though  retired. 
The  joy  of  youth  and  health  her  eyes  displayed; 
Aud  ease  of  heart  her  every  look  conveyed. 

Crabbe. 


'  Twas  but  slightingly  they  looked  at  him, — 
And  they  knew  him  uot — she  saw  deeper. 

The  Heiress. 


Giij  has  been  about  two  weeks  at  Fairslope.  He 
has  passed  his  time  generally  in  hunting,  fishing, 
riding  about  the  estate  with  his  uncle,  and  in  reading, 
— the  old  sailor  having  a  library  of  choice  books, — 
many  of  them  rai^e  and  valuable.  At  first,  his 
engagements,  keeping  him  from  the  house,  he  saw  but 
little  of  its  two  young  mistresses, — this  was  indeed 
what  he  desired,  and  was  the  great  cause  of  his  appa- 
rent devotion  to  field  sports, — latterly,  however,  they 
had  frequently  been  thrown  together,  and,  he,  contrary 
to  his  custom  heretofore  with  reoard  to  the  sex,  had 
on  more  than  one  occasion  sought  their  society.  The 
usual  evening's  walk  of  Grace,  often  accompanied  by 
her  elder  sister,  in  spring  and  summer,  was  along  the 
smooth  sand  of  the  beach,  to  a  spring,  at  no  great  dis- 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  175 

tance  from  the  bank  of  a  narrow,  but  deep  river, 
marked  by  a  line  of  hnge  forest  trees,  in  plain  view 
of  the  house.  The  undergrowth  about  the  spring  had 
been  cleared  away,  making  an  open  grove  of  about  an 
acre  in  extent,  that  reached  from  the  sands  to  within 
a  few  yards  of  the  little  river,  the  bank  of  which,  at 
the  point,  was  left  clad  in  its  rich  native  growth  of 
vine,  and  shrub,  and  tree  heavily  draped  with  Spanish 
moss.  Here  the  atmosphere  freely  circulated,  while 
coolness  nestled  under  the  broad  arms  of  the  giant 
beeches,  magnolias  and  live  oaks,  with  which  the  spot 
abounded  ;  and,  on  bright  days,  the  sunshine  "greenly 
sifted  through  the  trees,"  and  sleeping  in  large,  irreg- 
ular patches  upon  the  grass,  where  it  made  its  way 
between  them,  effectually  banished  dampness.  The 
spring  flowed  from  the  roots  of  a  tree,  and  forming  a 
clear,  crystal  runlet,  margined  with  lines  of  soft  green 
moss,  glided  placidlj^,  and  without  a  murmur,  to  the 
turbid  waters  of  the  larger  stream.  Near  the  lower 
corner  of  the  opening  the  river  turned  abruptly  to  the 
left,  and  flowing  darkly  and  sluggishly  in  a  southernly 
direction,  almost  parallel  with  the  coast-line  of  the 
Gulf,  from  whose  waters  it  was  only  separated  by  a 
somewhat  elevated  and  narrow  tongue  of  land,  emp- 
tied into  them  about  two  miles  below,  nearly  opposite 
a  small,  and  partially  wooded  island.  At  the  mouth 
of  the  river  the  water  was  very  deep ;  and  there,  by 
the  aid  of  the  island,  was  secure  anchorage-ground, 
even  in  tempestuous  weather,  for  the  small  schooner, 
which  ran  between  Fairslope  and  Pensacola,  and  some- 


176  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

times  Fairslope  and  Mobile,  carrying  oiF  the  produce 
of  Charles  Munson's  farms,  lumber  from  his  mill  and 
settlement  a  few  miles  up  the  river,  and  bringing  in 
all  needed  supplies.  The  road  from  the  house  along 
the  beach  continued,  after  the  path  to  the  spring  left 
it,  to  a  small  jetty  at  the  point  of  the  tongae  of  land 
before  alluded  to.  The  schooner  was  principally 
owned  by  Cliarles  Munson — a  small  interest  in  it 
having  been  presented  by  him  to  the  skipper,  William 
Crossland,  and  his  cousin,  Tom  Myers,  the  mate. 

It  has  been  said  that  Guy,  who,  in  the  beginning  of 
his  visit  to  Fairslope,  had  rather  shunned  the  company 
of  Mary  and  Grace,  had,  of  late,  seemed  to  seek  it. 
The  character  of  his  intercourse  with  them,  and  espe- 
cially his  manner  of  talking  to  them,  can  be  inferred 
from  a  laughing  remark,  which  Mary — who,  by  the 
way,  was  at  least  two  years  his  senior — made  to  his 
uncle  about  this  time.  "His  wav  of  addressino-  me," 
said  she  laughingly,  "leads  me  sometimes  to  fear  at 
his  hands  a  parental-like  pat  on  the  head  or  chuck 
under  the  chin."  Grace  met  his  patronizing  airs  with 
a  modest  dignity,  which  was  known  to  be  a  part  of 
her  nature,  and  with  a  quiet  lirmness  and  spirit,  which 
was  as  unexpected  as  it  was  becoming.  Before  the 
pure  and  steady  look  of  her  wondrous  eyes,  and  her 
words  conveying  the  gentlest  shade  of  rebuke,  Guy 
frequently  stopped  short  in  his  career  of  affectation, 
and  turned  away  with  an  embarrassment,  which  would 
have  astonished  him  a  few  weeks  earlier,  and  which, 
his  inability  at  the  time  to  conceal,  made  doubly  pain- 


UNDEE  THE  mag:solia.  177 

fill.  Throiigli  the  surface  of  tlie  outward  man,  slie 
was  sure  that  she  saw, — perhaps  she  was  mistaken, — 
the  outcroppings  of  an  independent  and  chivalrous 
spirit,  the  existence  of  whicli  even  his  uncle  did  not 
always  fully  credit,  and  Charles  Munson  not  at  all. 
In  fact,  to  the  plain,  honest  and  direct-minded  old 
sailor,  Guy  appeared  to  be  something  of  a  puppy — 
though  he  kept  the  opinion  to  himself,  of  course. 

About  the  time  indicated  at  the  commencement  of 
this  chapter,  Mary,  Grace  and  Guy  were  at  the  spring. 
The  young  man,  during  his  walk  from  the  house,  and 
since,  had  conducted  himself  well — had  been  guilty 
of  none  of  his  customary  conversational  improprieties. 
They  had  been  there  but  a  short  time,  when  a  mock- 
ing-bird, settled  upon  the  dead  branch  of  a  tree  close 
by,  and  began  to  smg.  As  its  song  rose  higher  and 
higher,  it  Avould  spread  out  its  wings,  hop  from  place 
to  place  on  the  limb,  and  now  and  then  circle  grace- 
fully around  it.  "  '  AYhat  linked  sweetness  long  drawn 
out' — he  seems  to  'untie  and  set  free  the  hidden  soul 
of  harmony,' "  exclaimed  Guy,  as  the  mocking-bird, 
describing  a  rapid  spiral,  poured  from  his  throat  a 
mazy-flowing  stream  of  melody,  closing  with  a  trill, 
as  he  darted  straight  up  into  the  air,  which  filled 
every  avenue  of  the  woods  with  song.  "Was  any- 
thing richer  ever  heard  by  mortal  man  ?  " 

"No, — nothing  could  be  finer,"  murmured  Grace, 
almost  unconsciously,  in  her  low  and  silvery  tones. 

"Well,"  said  Guy, — "it  is  splendid  certainly, — but 
I  think  I've  heard  a  bird  in  these  woods,  and  that, 


178  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

too,  very  recently,  whose  music  Avas  far  sweeter  ;  "  and 
he  looked  Grace  fall  in  the  face. 

There  was  a  faint  blush  upon  the  young  girl's 
cheek,  as  he  continued, — "But  what  a  wonderful  bird 
it  is,  and  how  little  appreciated !  In  this  respect  it  is 
somewhat  like  the  magnolia  there.  Did  it  ever  occur 
to  either  of  you,  that  while  the  oak,  poplar,  maple, 
et  csstera^  have  been  very  fi^equently  embalmed  in  verse, 
this,  the  queen  of  beauty  among  American  forest  trees, 
has  never  had  paid  to  it  the  sHghtest  poetic  tribute? 
The  mocking-bird,  the  queen  of  song  among  American 
forest  birds,  has  indeed  had  many,  and  yet  it  is  little 
better  off  with  them,  than  the  magnolia  without, — 
not  one,  as  far  as  I  know,  being  afloat  upon  the  cur- 
rent literature  of  the  day.  The  greater  part  of  them 
perhaps  deserved  this  fate  :  one  certainly  did  not.  It 
Avas  written  by  a  man,  who,  though  of  Northern  birth, 
has  long  resided  at  the  South,  and  all  of  whose 
tastes,  feelings  and  sympathies  are  essentially  South- 
ern. Though  a  production  of  rare  merit,  I  have 
never  seen  it,  but  once  or  twice  oatside  of  the  volume, 
in  which  it  was  first  published  about  forty  years  ago." 

While  they  were  listening  to  the  song  of  the  bird, 
he  recited,  as  an  accompaniment,  the  following  lines 
from  a  song  in  its  praise,  which  was  almost  as  full  of 
music  : 

"Thou  glorious  mocker  of  the  world!     I  hear 
Thy  many  voices  ringing  through  the  glooms 
Of  these  green  solitudes— and  ail  the  clear 
Bright  joyance  of  their  song  enthralls  the  ear, 


UNDER  THE   MAGNOLIA.  179 

And  floods  the  heart.     Over  the  sphered  tombs 
Of  vanished  nations  rolls  thy  masic  tide. 
No  light  from  history's  star-like  page  illumes 
The  memory  of  those  nations^they  have  died. 
None  cares  for  them  but  thou— and  thou  may'st  sing 
Perhaps  o'er  me— as  now  thy  song  doth  ring 
Over  their  bones  by  whom  thou  once  wast  deified. 


"  Thou  scorner  of  all  cities.     Thou  dost  leave 
The  world's  turmoil,  and  never  ceasing  din, 
Where  one  from  others  no  existence  weaves — 
Where  the  old  sighs,  the  young  turns  gray  and  grieves— 
Where  misery  gnaws  the  maiden's  heart  within  : 
And  thou  dost  flee  into  the  broad  green  woods, 
And  with  thy  soul  of  music  thou  dost  win 
Their  hearts  to  harmony — no  jar  intrudes 
Upon  thy  sounding  melody.     Oh  where, 
Amid  the  sweet  musicians  of  the  air. 
Is  one  so  dear  as  thou  to  these  old  solitudes  ! 


"  Ha  !  what  a  burst  was  that !  the  peolian  strain 
Goes  floating  through  the  tangled  passages 
Of  the  lone  woods, — and  now  it  comes  again — 
A  multitudinous  melody — like  a  rain 
Of  glossy  music  under  echoing  trees, 
Over  a  ringing  lake ;  it  wraps  the  soul 
With  a  bright  harmony  of  happiness — 
Even  as  a  gom  is  wrapped,  when  round  it  roll 
The  waves  of  brilhant  flame— till  we  become. 
Even  with  the  exce.is  of  our  deep  pleasura,  dumb. 
And  pant  like  some  swift  runner  clinging  to  the  goal." 


"  We  are  mucli  obliged  to  you,"  said  Grace  when  he 
had  finished  the  lines. 


180  UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

"I  appreciate  that,"  said  Guy, — "it  is  the  first  time 
I  believe  you  have  ever  thanked  me." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Grace  smihu.tr,  "it  is  the  only  time 
you  have  ever  deserved  our  thanks." 

"You  spoke  very  dolefully  just  now,"  observed 
Mary,  "about  the  magnolia  never  having  been  an  ob- 
ject of  the  poets'  care  and  attention — why  don't  you 
remedy  this  neglect  on  their  part,  and  give  the  world 
a  poem  on  the  subject,  j^ourself  ?  Grace  and  I  will 
promise  to  read  it  with  interest." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion,"  said  Guy, — "I 
will  do  it.  Be  quiet  now,"  continued  he,  taking  out 
his  pencil,  and  commencing  to  scribble  upon  the  blank 
leaf  of  an  old  letter, — "and  you  shall  have  the  lines 
in  a  feAV  minutes." 

"Ah!"  said  Mary  laughing,  "you  would  have  us 
think  your  lines  an  impromptu — would  you?  What 
transparent  cheats  some  of  you  men  are !  I  have  no 
doubt  now  that  you  have  agonized  for  hours  in  the 
solitude  of  your  room,  over  what  you  are  at  present 
writing  off  so  glibly." 

Guy  did  not  reply — but  with  eyes  fixed,  brows  knit 
and  lips  closed  as  if  in  deepest  thought,  and  oblivious 
to  all  that  was  passing  around  him,  made  his  pencil 
dash  rapidly  across  the  paper.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  told  Mary  that  she  should  not  see  what  he  had 
written,  for  doubtinsf  the  readiness  of  his  muse.  He 
then  handed  the  paper  to  Grace, — Avho  after  reading, 


UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA.  181 

turned  it, — in  spite  of  his  argent  objections, — over  to 
lier  sistei\     The  lines  were  as  follows : 

TO    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

Written  for  Grace  Mun^on. 

It  is  a  qiieeuly  ti'ee,  and  rare. — 

It  charms  the  lo\vlie->t   place. 
And  in  its  stem  and  branches  fair, 

"What  do  I  fc>ee  but  grace  I 

Its  shining  leaves,  like  glossy  tongues, 

In  ev'ry  breeze  do   race, 
And  in  their  sweetly  whisp'i'ing  songs, 

What  do  I  hear  but  grace  I 

Its  blossoms  spotless,  pure  and  white. 

Unequalled  in  all  space, 
Shows  sound -St  heart,  and  one  that's  bright. 

And  true, — a  heart  of  grace  I 

"I  take  back  what  I  said,"  remarked  Marj  smiling 
mischievously,  as  she  folded  the  paper  and  returned 
it  to  Grace — "I  am  sure  now  that  the  lines  are  im- 
promptu." 

Gruy  pulled  out  his  cigar-case  and  match-box — • 
remarking,  as  he  struck  a  light,  "You.  won't  object  to 
my  smoking  out  here  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Mary,  "avc  are  smoked  so  much  at  home 
b}^  papa,  that  we  now  scarcely  notice  it  even  in  the 
house.  But  what  a  stranoe  habit  it  is,  to  be  sure ! 
Men  talk  of  our  little  weaknesses  and  failings,  and 


182  UXDEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

ridicule  tliem  unsparingly.  If  they  could  be  made  to 
think  and  ponder  upon  their  large  ones,  how  great 
ought  to  be  their  shame  ! " 

"  Why,  you  don't  certainly  think  the  use  of  tobacco 
a  weakness — a  failing  ?  Hear  what  the  poet  says — 
writing  under  the  genuine  inspiration  of  the  weed  ;  '^ 
and  he  rattled  off  rather  maliciously  the  well  known 
lines : 

"Yes,  social  friend,  I  love  thee  well, 

In  learned  doctors'  spite  : 
Th}'  clouds  all  other  cloiids  dispel, 

And  lap  me  in  delight. 
What  though  they  tell,  with  phizes  long, 

My  years  are  sooner  past, 
I  would  reply,  with  reason  strong, 

They're  sweeter  while  they  last." 

"You  need  not  have  told  us" — said  Mary — "those 
lines  were  written  under  the  inspiration  of  the  weed. 
The  evidences  of  the  narcotic  are  all  about  them.  Of 
course  I  am  not  so  ridiculous  as  to  argue  against  such 
a  habit  at  this  late  day.  The  subject  has  long  since 
been  exhausted:  and  besides,  as  Cowper  says: 

'  Habits  are  soon  assumed  ;  but  when  we  strive 
To  strip  them  'tis  like  being  flayed  ahve.' 

I  simply  alluded  to  it  to  illustrate  the  uncharitableness 
of  your  sex  toward  ours.  You  see  plainly  the  mote 
in  our  eye,  but  are  wholl}"  unconscious  of  the  beam 
in  your  own." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Guy  impudently,  "as  far 


UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  183 

as  I  am  concerned,  at  least,  with  regard  to  an  impor- 
tant part  of  your  charge.  Having  a  lively  recollec- 
tion of  the  attempt  made  by  the  Widow  Wadman  to 
entrap  the  unsuspecting  Uncle  Toby,  I  never  search 
for  motes  in  a  woman's  eves." 

"I  will  not  affect  ignorance  of  your  ungallant  allu- 
sion," said  Mary,  laughing  and  blushing.  "However 
don't  pride  3'ourself  upon  the  smartness  of  your  reply. 
I  am  sure  Sterne  told  an  untruth.  There  v:as  a  mote 
in  the  Widow's  eye — Uncle  Toby  was  only  too  blind 
to  see  it.  The'  history  of  the  author  of  Tristram 
Shandy  proves  that  he  was  not  too  good  to  slander  a 
woman."     Guy  winced,  and  made  no  reply. 

The  next  evening  the  three  were  standing  together 
upon  the  sands  just  below  the  house.  The  water  of 
the  Gulf,  in  its  restless  ebb  and  flow,  at  times  almost 
reached  their  feet.  -Something  had  been  said  with 
regard  to  the  loss  of  Hubert  Brentworth's  arm. 

"It  happeaed,"  said  Guy,  "at  the  first  battle  of 
Manassas.  He  occupied  a  position  in  the  ranks  not 
far  from  the  head  of  his  regiment, — the  Fourth  Ala- 
bama,— where  as  coolly  and  collectedly,  as  upon  dress 
parade,  Egbert  J.  Jones,  its  commander,  sat  upon  his 
horse,  while  his  gallant  Alabamians,  in  common  with 
the  rest  of  our  small  force  upon  the  left,  were  being, 
not  defeated,  but  crushed,  by  the  overwhelming  weight 
of  the  enemy, — a  conspicuous  mark  by  his  splendid 
person, — full  six  feet  four  inches  in  height,  and  finely 
proportioned, — for  the  thickly  flying  bullets.  I  have 
often  heard  uncle  say  that  Colonel  Jones  and  his  steed 


18-i  UNDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

in  that  figlit, — tlie  one  facing  death  with  a  proncl  and 
defiant  front,  and  the  other  shivering  under  him  at 
each  explosion  of  the  heav}^  guns, — was  the  grandest 
sight  lie  ever  witnessed.  About  the  time  that  Colonel 
Jones  was  borne  mortally  wounded  from  the  field,  un- 
cle's left  arm  was  shattered  just  below  the  elbow  by  a 
musket  ball.  Our  left  won  imperishable  laurels  that 
day,  and  deserved  Ticknor's  noble  tribute."  And  with 
a  spirit,  which  showed  that  he  had  much  of  the  power 
of  an  orator,  while  the  ladies  listened  with  rapt  atten- 
tion to  the  words  of  the  lyric,  as,  in  the  rich  and 
mellow  tones  of  his  voice,  they  floated  away  over  the 
waters  of  the  Gulf,  he  save  them 

"OUE    LEFT." 

"From  dawn  to  dark  they  stood, 
That  long  midsummer  day, 
"WTiile  fierce  and  fast 
The  battle  blast 
SwejDt  rank  on  rank  away. 

"From  dawn  to  dark  they  fought. 
With  legions  torn  and  cluft, 
While  still  the  wide 
Black  battle-tide 
Poured  deadlier  on  our  'Left' 

*'  Thej^  closed  each  ghastly  gap — 

They  dressed  each  shattered  rank — 
They  knew  (how  well !) 
That  freedom  fell 
"With  that  exhausted  flank. 


UNDER   THE   MAGXOLIA.  185 

*'01il  for  a  thousand  men, 
Like  those  that  melt  away ; 
And  down  they  come, 
With  steel  and  plume, 
Four  thousand  to  the  fray. 

"Eight  thro'  the  blackest  cloud 

Their  lightning  path  they  cleft — 
And  triumph  came, 
With  deathless  fame, 
To  our  unconquered  '  Left.' 

"Ye,  of  your  sons  secure, 
Ye,  of  your  sons  bereft, 
Honor  the  brave 
Who  died  to  save 
I'our  all  upon  our  'Left.'" 

"Tliat  ballad,"  said  Guy,  "is  as  compact  and  vigor- 
ous  as  Holienlinden,  or,  Brnce's  Address.  It  lias  all 
the  clear,  ringing,  inspiriting  sound  of  the  bugle-blast, 
that  burled  the  Six  Hundred  upon  the  Eussian  army. 
Perhaps,  however,"  continued  he,  in  a  lower  tone,  "in 
a  few  years,  it  too  will  be  almost  forgotten  at  the 
South.  Perhaps,"  and  now  he  spoke  somewhat  bit- 
terly,— "perhaps,  in  books  made  up  of  selections  from 
American  prose  and  poetry,  issuing  from  Southern 
publishing  bouses,  and  edited  by  Southern  men,  and, 
in  some  instances,  prepared  for  the  use  of  Southern 
schools,  prominent  places,  as  now,  will  be  allowed 
Marco  Bozarris,  The  Psalm  of  Life,  and  The  Ode  to 
a  Water-Fowl,  while  no  room  can  be  found  for  this 
fine  ballad,  and  other  kindred  creations  of  the  Soutli- 


ern  muse." 


8^ 


186  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

Twiliglit  had  almost  deepened  into  night,  as  they 
commenced  their  walk  homeward.  The  atmosphere 
was  perfectly  still. 

"Listen  to  the  murmur  of  the  Avater,"  said  Mary 
pausing, — "how  mournful  and  desolate  it  sounds!'^ 
"And,"  added  Grace,  "it  seems  to  have,  ever  and 
anon,  amid  its  drear  notes,  one  still  more  drear — 
something  between  a  moan  and  a  sob." 

"Yes,"  said  Guy,  relapsing  into  his  usual  light  and 
jeering  vein,  for  he  thought  they  had  been  serious  long 
enough,  and  were  becoming  much  too  sentimental, — 

'The  bride-groom  sea 
Is  toying  with  the  shore,  his  wedded  bride, 
And  in  the  fullness  of  his  niai'riage  joy, 
He  decorates  her  tawny  brow  vrith  shells, 
Retires  a  space  to  see  how  fair  she  looks, 
Then  j)roud  runs  up  to  kiss  her.'" 

Waiting  a  moment  or  two  for  them  to  enjoy  the 
beauty  of  the  lines,  he  continued:  "No  doubt  his 
wailing  is  produced  by  the  heavy  slaps  Avhich  his 
bride  gives  him  upon  the  face,  for  his  presumption  in 
daring  to  kiss  her,  after  placing  no  rarer  or  richer 
ornaments  upon  her  brow  than  shells." 

Guy  did  not  realize  the  height,  to  which  the  enthu- 
siasm of  Grace  had  been  wrought  by  the  occurrences 
of  the  evening,  and  consequently  did  not  anticipate 
the  jar,  which  was  given  to  her  sensibilities  by  his 
homely  comment.  He  was  not  prepared  then  for  the 
quiver  in  her  voice,  as  she  said:  "You  have  done 


UNDER   THE   MAGXOLIA.  187 

what  you  ought  to  be  very  sorr j  for — associated  with 
the  beautiful  that  which  is  false  and  ignoble." 

These  few  and  simple  Avords  sank  deeply  into  his 
heart.  The  fault, — a  frequent  one  with  him, — had 
never  appeared  so  plain  to  him  ;  and  he  never  forgot 
the  lesson. 


188  UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Destruction  hovers  over  them  realy  with  its  pinions  to  stoop,  and  its  talons  to 
clutch. 

Waverly  Novels. 

Knifian,  let  go  that  rude  uncivil  touch  ! 

Shakspeaee. 


It  was  a  few  days  before  the  one,  which  Guy  had 
set  for  his  return  to  Montgomery.  His  visit  had 
already  been  protracted  much  beyond  what  lie  ex- 
pected upon  his  arrival  at  P^'airslope. 

"I  have  seen  but  little  of  you,  uncle  for  the  last 
three  or  four  days,"  said  he,  as  they  sat  late  in  the 
afternoon  by  the  cottage  door  in  the  shadow  of  tlie 
old  tree. 

"No,"  replied  Hubert  Brentworth, — "I  have  been 
quite  busy  of  late  at  the  wharf  in  superintend! og  the 
loading  and  unloading  of  the  schooner.  It  left  for 
Pensacola  yesterday  evening." 

"What  was  it  freighted  with?" — asked  Guy. 

"Principally  lumber.  I  am  glad  it  has  gone,  as  it 
leaves  me  with  nothing  especially  to  do  for  the  re- 
maining hours  of  your  stay  here."  After  awhile  he 
continued,  "I  am  tired  of  sitting — let  us  have  a  stroll 


UNDER    THE    MAGXOLIA.  189 

together."  Guy  at  once  assented.  He  would  have 
done  so  any  way — but  his  readiness  in  the  matter,  it 
should  be  observed,  was  not  at  all  lessened  by  his 
having  seen  Grace,  a  few  minutes  before,  moving 
alone,  under  the  trees,  in  the  direction  of  the  spring. 
After  o-ettino-  his  rifle,  Hubert  Brentworth,  accom- 
panied  by  his  nephew,  passed  slowly  down  the  slope, 
and  out  upon  the  sands.  His  heart,  during  the  short 
walk,  was  gladdened,  by  hearing  Guy  remark 
abruptlv,  after  they  had  been  for  some  moments 
silent,  that  upon  his  return  to  Montgomery,  he  in- 
tended to  go  honestly  to  work.  Though  surprised  at 
the  suddenness  with  which  the  avowal  was  made, 
Hubert  Brentworth  supposed  it  was  induced  by  the 
talk  he  had  oiven  him,  soon  after  their  first  meetins: 
at  the  cottage,  joined  with  reflection  upon  the  subject 
in  the  frequent  hours  allowed  him  for  self-communion 
in  so  quiet  a  spot  as  Fairslope.  Guy  had  not  even 
acknowledged  to  himself  what  was  the  main-spring 
of  it.  Bat  the  reader  knows  what  the  uncle  does  not 
suspect,  and  what  the  nephew  has  not  admitted  to  his 
own  heart,  that,  underlying  the  motives  suggested  to 
the  former,  Avas  one,  with  the  origin  of  which,  Grace 
Munson  had  unconsciously  much  to  do.  The  enthu- 
siastic love  of  truth  and  elevated  purity  of  the  young 
and  beautiful  girl  had  made  not  only  a  deep  and 
lasting  impression  upon  him,  but  had  awakened  him 
to,  at  least,  a  dim  conception  of  the  frivolousness  of 
his  previous  life,  with  a  desire  of  amending  it. 
Whether  this  wish  will,  as  is  too  often  the  case  with 


190  rXDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

those  of  a  similar  nature  thus  excited  in  the  breasts 
of  young  men,  end  in  smoke,  or  become  a  genuine 
refining  fire — in  other  words,  whether  it  is  with  Guy 
firmly  bottomed  upon  real  manliness  of  character, — 
remains  to  be  seen. 

Before  the  path  leading  to  the  spring  was  reached, 
a  negro  bearing  a  message  from  the  "Mill"  to  Hubert 
BrentAVorth,  came  up  with  them.  Stopping  to  write 
upon  his  knee  a  hurried  note  in  reply,  he  told  his 
nephew  to  go  on — that  he  would  soon  overtake  him. 
As  Guy  was  turjiing  from  the  beach  into  the  wooded 
path,  he  looked  back — saw  his  uncle  dismiss  the 
freedman,  and  resume  his  walk.  Just  then  he  heard 
a  female-scream  in  the  woods  ahead  of  him.  It  was 
instantly  and  more  piercinglj^  repeated.  Terribly 
startled,  and  feeling  sure  that  the  scream  proceeded 
from  Grace,  he  dashed  forward  with  the  speed  of  a 
greyhound.  As  he  ran,  he  grasped,  and  opened  his 
pocket-knife — the  only  weapon  about  him — which 
fortunately  had  a  long,  dirk-shaped  blade.  When  he 
sprang  into  the  more  open  area,  immediately  sur- 
rounding the  spring,  his  eye  caught  the  flutter  of  a 
Avhite  dress,  as  it  disappeared  through  the  thick 
undergrowth,  which  lined  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Continuing  with  accelerated  speed  his  headlong  pace, 
he  tore  throush  the  vines  and  bushes,  as  a  white 
man,  bending  over  the  side,  vigorously  pushed  a  boat 
from  the  shore.  Seeing,  at  the  same  time,  Grace  sup- 
ported in  the  arms  of  another  standing  near  the  centre 
of  the  boat,  while  a  hiio-e  neofro  beside  him  was  work- 


UXDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  191 

ing  at  the  oars,  he  bounded  across  the  intervening 
space,  just  as  the  boat  shot  out  into  the  stream  under 
a  kisty  pull  from  the  African,  and,  alighting  upon  the 
stooping  back  of  the  first  man,  who  was  thus  over- 
turned and  prostrated,  he  dashed  forward  and  buried 
his  knife  in  the  neck  of  the  other.  Guy  caught 
Grace,  as  the  ruffian,  in  fallins:,  released  her,  and 
detaching  an  oar  from  the  boat,  threw  it  into  the 
river.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  followed, 
and  using  it  as  a  partial  support  for  himself,  and  as 
an  aid  in  keeping  her  head  above  the  water,  he 
struck  out  boldly  for  the  shore,  which  was  not  many 
yards  distant.  Being  an  expert  swimmer,  Guy, 
thouo-h  heavilv  loaded,  had  but  little  fear  of  being: 
able  to  place  his  precious  charge  in  safety  upon  the 
bank.  He  saw  that  the  boat  was  slowly  drifting 
down  the  stream,  while  the  man,  whom  he  had  over- 
turned, and  the  negro,  had  raised  up  the  wounded 
villain,  and  were  endeavoring  to  stop  the  flow  of 
blood  from  his  throat.  He  was  close  to  the  shore, 
when  he  heard  a  singular,  gurgling  sound  in  the 
water  behind  him.  He  oianced  over  his  shoulder, 
and  saw, — that  which  was  sufficient  to  freeze  with 
dismay  and  horror  the  stoutest  heart.  Moving  in  his 
wake,  and  scarcely  four  yards  distant,  appeared  the 
hungry  eye  and  distended  jaws  of  an  enormous 
alligator.  Guy  knew  that  it  was  a  struggle  for  life 
and  death,  with  all  the  chances  in  favor  of  the  latter, 
and  that  too  of  the  most  terrible  character;  and  yet 
he  did  not  yield  to  despair,  or  lose  his  presence  of 


192  UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

mind.  He  pulled  manfully  and  desperately  for  the 
bank.  The  controlling  thought  and  hope  with  him 
was  at  least  to  save  Grace.  The  few  seconds  that 
intervened  between  the  time,  wiien  he  first  saw  the 
monster,  and  the  time  when  he  could  not  only  hear  its 
labored  breathing,  but  absolutely  feel  it  upon  his 
cheek,  seemed  to  him  an  age.  And,  when  he  was 
sure  that  the  next  moment  would  be  his  last — when 
he  knew  that  the  savage  reptile  was  preparing  to 
seize  him,  and,  in  his  agony  could  almost  feel  its 
teeth  in  his  body,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  was 
heard,  a  bullet  whistled  by  his  ear,  and  he  and  Grace 
were  drawn  safely  to  land  by  Hubert  Brentworth. 

The  first  act  of  Guy  was  to  offer  thanks  to  a  divine 
and  merciful  providence  for  his  unlooked-for  rescue 
from  the  very  jaws  of  death:  the  next  was  to  grasp 
tio-htlv  his  uncle's  hand  with  feelino-s  of  affectionate 
gratitude  too  deep  for  utterance.  Grace,  who  had 
shown  no  signs  of  life,  since  Guy  had  received  her 
fiainting  form  from  the  arms  of  her  abductor,  was 
immediately  removed  by  them  to  the  spring,  where 
she  Avas  gently  laid  upon  a  grassy  mound — Hubert 
Brentworth  taking  off'  his  coat,  and  placing  it  folded 
under  her  head.  In  the  meantime  the  boat  had 
passed  around  the  abrupt  bend  in  the  river  before 
described,  and  disappeared  from  sight.  Observing 
that  Guy  was  very  pale,  and  appeared  still  to  be 
laboring  under  strong  and  painful  emotion,  his  uncle 
said  to  him,  with  an  assumption  of  gaiety: 

"The  creature  was  very  close  to  you,  Guy.     Ordi- 


UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  193 

narily  I  could  Lave  sent  a  ball,  tbrouoh  his  eye, 
crashing  into  his  brain;  bnt  the  circumstances  would 
not  admit  of  any  risk — so  I  sent  it,  through  his 
mouth,  hissing  down  his  throat.  But  explanations 
later.  One  of  us  must  go  immediately  after  help.  I, 
as  the  drier  and  fresher  of  the  two,  will  do  so.  Eub 
Grace's  hands  and  temples  while  I  am  gone,  and  now 
and  then  sprinkle  some  of  this  cool  water  in  her  face. 
I  doubt  not  you  will  have  her  up  by  my  return." 

As  Guy,  left  alone  with  Grace,  looked  down  upon 
her  marble  features,  which  had  never  appeared  to 
him  so  exquisitely  delicate  and  lovely  in  their  out- 
lines, and  commenced  to  chafe  her  slender  hands 
between  his  broad  palms,  he  could  not  refrain  from 
calling  upon  her,  in  words  of  endearment,  to  look  up, 
and  to  pour  into  her  unheeding  ears  vows  of  unalter- 
able atfection.  He  continued  his  rhapsodies  some  time 
after  a  tinge  of  color,  Avhich  he  was  too  busy  with  his 
thoughts  to  notice,  had  returned  to  her  cheek.  At 
hrst  it  was  as  faint  as  the  hghtest  trace  of  pink  in  the 
sea-shell,  but  gradually  deepening  to  the  rosy  blush 
of  fully  restored  animation,  she  opened  her  eyes,  just 
as  he  concluded  a  round  of  most  loving  protestations, 
and  looked  at  him  fixedly.  The  next  moment,  a  spasm 
of  pain  crossed  her  fair  face,  as  full  recollection  of  the 
horrors  of  her  forcible  seizure,  came  back  to  her ;  and, 
woman-like,  she  quietly  fainted  again.  Guy  was  nearlv 
beside  himself.  The  swoon,  however,  lasted  but  a 
short  time.  Before  his  frenzy  took  on  the  form  of 
absolute  insanitv,  consciousness  returned  to  her.     In 

y 


194  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

a  few  minutes  she  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  even  laugb 
a  little  at  lier  companion,  whose  exuberant  joy  at 
her  recovery  made  him  commit  all  manner  of  boyish 
absurdities. 

When  Hubert  Brentworth  arrived  with  the  carriage 
from  Fairslope,  accompanied  by  the  anxious  father 
and  sister  of  Grace,  they  found  her  half  sitting,  half 
reclining  upon  the  grass,  with  several  green  branches 
of  the  magnolia,  starred  with  flowers,  lying  around 
her  and  in  her  lap, — her  arms  and  shoulders  covered 
with  the  coat,  Avhich  had  served  for  her  pillow,  and 
Guy's  slouched  hat  sitting  jauntily  upon  her  sunny 
tresses.  The  young  man  was  seated  upon  a  log  at  a 
respectful  distance.  To  him  the  old  sailor  and  Mary, 
after  embracing  Grace,  with  many  tears  on  the  part  of 
the  sisters,  were  profuse  in  thanks,  interrupted  by 
some  exclamations  of  wonder  at  the  affair.  Who  Avere 
the  parties,  and  what  was  the  object,  were  to  Charles 
Munson  oppressive  mj^steries.  The  attention  of  Hu- 
bert Brentworth  had  been  so  completely  engrossed  by 
Grace  and  Guy  that  the  boat  passed  out  of  sight,  with- 
out his  having  noticed  it  at  all.  Guy  had  never  seen 
either  of  the  men  before,  and  he,  of  course,  could  give 
no  satisfactory  information  with  regard  to  them.  It 
is  true  he  had  his  suspicions,  but  these  he  commu- 
nicated to  his  uncle  in  private. 

All  was  quiet  at  Fairslope,  the  second  night  after 
the  exciting  events  just  narrated.  The  moon  was 
dimly  shining,  and  Grace,  completely  restored,  was 
sitting,  after  tea,  with  Guy,  upon  the  steps  of  the  front 


UXDEE   THE    MAGNOLIA.  195 

veranda.  A  cluster  of  evergreens,  in  the  yard,  con- 
cealed them  from  Charles  Munson  and  Hubert  Brent- 
worth,  who  were  smoking  their  pipes  before  the  door 
of  the  cottage,  across  the  way. 

"That  first  swoon  of  yours  was  a  very  long  odc; — 
were  you  unconscious,"  anxiously  enquired  Guy,  "all 
the  time  your  ej^es  were  closed  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Grace, — "not  all  the  time." 

"Did  you  hear  anything  I  said?"  asked  Guy  rather 
dubiously. 

"A  little." 

"Are  YOU  anoTv?" 

" No,"  she  rephed,  very  gently ;  "are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

"Yes;"  and  half  kneeling  at  her  side,  while  he 
clasped  her  white  hand,  and  looked  in  her  sweet  eyes, 
to  which  not  even  the  softened  light  of  the  moon  could 
lend  additional  attraction,  he  said : But  no  mat- 
ter what  he  said.  He  Avas  very  young ;  and  the  reader 
might  suppose,  if  his  words  were  given,  that  he  talked 
foolishly.  He,  however,  did  not  think  so ;  and,  what 
is  more  to  the  purpose,  neither  did  Grace. 


196  UXDEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 


CHAPTER   YI. 


I'll  warrant  that  fellow  from  drowning  tlKingh  the  sliip  were  no  stronger  than 
a  nut-shell.  *  *  *  He  hath  no  diowuing  mark  upon  him;  his  mmilexion  is 
perfect  gallows.  •  The  Tempkst. 


Reference  has  been  had  to  the  schooner  which  plied 
rather  irregularly  between  Fairslope  and  Pensacola. 
William  Crossland,  the  skipper,  and  Thomas  Myers, 
his  cousin,  and  assistant  in  the  manao-ement  of  the 
little  craft,  were  men  of  some  nautical  skill,  having 
run  for  years,  upon  different  ships  and  in  different 
capacities,  between  Pensacola  and  Havana.  Their 
home,  if  men  leading  such  a  life,  and  without  families, 
can  be  said  to  have  a  home,  was  in  the  first  named 
city — at  any  rate  it  was  there  that  they  passed  the 
greater  part  of  their  time,  when  not  engaged  upon 
ship-board ;  and  out  of  regular  Avork,  it  was  there  they 
were  met  and  employed  by  Charles  Munson.  It  should 
be  observed,  in  justification  of  this  act  on  the  part  of 
the  old  sailor,  that,  while  they  had  earned,  in  that 
place,  no  reputation  for  habits  strict!}-  moral,  they 
were  generally  regarded  as  industrious,  as  well  as 
attentive  and  reliable  in    the  discharge  of  business 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  197 

duties.  Both  were  intelligent — perhaps  Myers  the 
more  so  of  the  two — though  Orossland,  having  received 
somethino-  of  an  education, — of  which  the  other  was 
totally  deficient, — made  the  better  impression  upon 
others.  For  one  in  his  calhng,  indeed,  his  address 
was  remarkably  good.  All  that  had  ever  been  said 
asrainst  them, — and  this  had  never  been  borne  to  the 
ears  of  their  present  emploj^er, — was  a  whisper  among 
some  of  the  older  citizens  that  nobody  knew  from 
what  place  in  the  States  they  originally  came, — and 
among  some  of  the  younger,  that  equal  ignorance 
prevailed  as  to  their  course  during  the  war,  and  that 
they  seemed  to  be  in  sjmipathy  with  the  dominant 
political  party  of  the  country,  in  its  rule  of  ignorance 
and  force  at  the  South.  This  last  charge,  hoAvever, 
originated  in  mere  suspicion,  as  the  nature  of  their 
business,  of  course,  prevented,  on  their  part,  any  acts 
of  decided  partisanship.  The  only  known  relative  of 
the  two  men  in  Florida,  and  he  had  come  to  the  state 
with  them,  was  Ben,  a  brother  of  Tom  Myers,  who 
was  married,  and  lived  somewhere  on  the  coast  below 
Pensacola. 

The  schooner  had  received  its  load,  and  left  the 
month  of  the  river,  it  will  be  recollected,  the  evening 
before  the  attempted  seizure  of  Grace.  It  was,  how- 
ever, a  few  nights  earlier,  while  the  vessel  was  lying 
at  the  little  Avliarf  of  Fairslope,  that  the  reader  is 
requested  to  look  into  the  diminntive  cabin  occupied 
by  Crossland,  the  skipper,  and  listen  to  part  of  a  con- 
versation between  himself,  and  his  right  hand  man, 


198  UXDEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

!^[Jers.  They  were  seated,  facing  each,  other,  at  a 
small  table,  upon  which  were  placed  a  pitcher  of  water, 
a  bowl  of  sugar  and  a  bottle  of  whiskey.  They  had 
been  drinking,  but,  not  in  sufficient  quantities,  to  show 
signs  of  it,  except  in  the  heightened  color  of  their 
rongh  unshaven  faces.  Indeed,  although  the  free  use 
of  spirits  was  habitual  with  both,  they  were  never 
seen  drunk  by  their  associates  even  in  their  most  con- 
vivial moments  ; — their  well  seasoned  carcasses  being 
able  to  receive  all  the  liquid  fire  poured  down  their 
throats,  without  avowing  it  to  mount  to  the  brains 
Avith  potency  enough  to  overwhelm  them. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  plan,  Tom?"  asked 
Crossland  balancing  the  pewter  spoon  upon  the  edge 
of  his  glass. 

"Can't  say  raley — mebbe  it'll  work — but  it  'pears 
mighty  full  of  diffikilties,"  replied  Myers. 

"It's  your  faint  heart  that  speaks,"  said  Crossland. 
"Of  course  there'll  be  difficulties  ;  but  to  me  now  they 
seem  few  and  small — and  Vv^e'll  get  over  them  as  easy 
as  water  runs  oft'  a  greasy  gourd." 

"Tell  me  over  again  plainly  and  slowly  how  you 
think  it  can  be  manidged,"  remarked  the  other  cau- 
tiously— "give  me  all  the  pertikilers." 

"That's  soon  done,"  rejoined  the  skipper.  "We'll 
get  our  load  by  day-after-to-morrow  evening — early, — 
and  start  at  once  for  Pensacola.  By  dark,  or  a  little 
after,  we'll  get  to  the  mouth  of  the  big  creek  about 
ten  miles  from  here.  The  creek  you  know  is  almost, 
if  not  quite  as  large  as  this  stream.     I  have  sounded 


UXDEK   THE   MAGXOLIA.  199 

all  about  the  mouth,  and  know  that  the  schooner  can 
enter  it  easily ; — the  banks  are  a  perfect  jungle  on 
each  side  for  more  than  a  mile  ;  and  when  the 
schooner  once  gets  in  between  'em,  it's  as  fairlv  hid 
as — this  grog  is,"  said  he  draining  his  glass.  "You, 
me  and  black  N'ed,  who'll  do  what  I  say  anytime,  and 
never  peach,  will  drop  back  here  in  the  boat  under 
cover  of  the  darkness ;  and  the  girl,  who,  I  hear, 
walks  to  the  spring  every  day, — sometimes  twice, — 
in  the  morning  before  breakfast,  and  in  the  evening 
about  sundown,  can  be  easily  picked  up,  brought  to 
the  schooner,  without  a  soul  on  board,  except  us  three, 
knowing  anything  about  it — kept  concealed  in  this 
cabin  during  the  few  hours'  run  to  Beggar's  Point, 
where  your  brother  Ben  lives — and  there  put  ashore. 
He  and  his  wife  will  keep  a  look-out  upon  her  move- 
ments until  Munson  can  be  brouoht  to  terms.  Rich 
as  he  is — worth  a  cool  half  million — and  loving  the 
girl  as  the  apple  of  his  eye — he'll  give  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  down  to  get  her  safe  back,  and  ask  no 
questions.  Just  think  of  it,  Tom,"  and  he  seemed  to 
roll  a  delicious  morsel  over  in  his  mouth,  "twenty 
thousand  dollars  in  a  week — for  the  whole  thino-  can 
be  fixed  up  in  a  week — and  then  ho !  for  California, 
where  we  can  flourish,  and  live  as  high  as  sharks 
around  a  wreck." 

"  Hold  up,"  exclaimed  Myers,  "yer  runnin'  like  a 
ship  before  a  gale  with  all  canvas  spread, — just  a  bit 
too  fast.  Won't  we  be  suspicioned  of  doin'  the  job  ? 
It  'pears  to  me  they'd  settle  down  on  us  right  away — 


200  UNDER   THE    MAGXOLIA. 

and  if  so.  in  the  place  of  Munson's  gold,  we'd  be 
accomy dated  Avith  a  pair  of  iron  bracelits  apiece,  and 
instid  of  fiourishin'  in  Californy  we'd  find  ourselves 
in  a  dungin." 

"What  a  tub  of  a  craft  that  head-piece  of  yours  is 
to-night,  Tom  ! "  said  Crossland.  "  Munson  has  perfect 
confidence  in  us — I  can  see  that  in  all  his  actions — • 
and  old  Brentworth  intimated  as  much  to  me  the  other 
day.  And  besides,  don't  ye  see  that  the3^'d  think  the 
schooner  half  way  to  Pensacola,  when  they'd  missed 
the  girl?  lN"o,"  continued  he  confidently,  "they'd 
never  suspect  us." 

"But  what  would  Barton  and  the  nigo-ers  here  in 
the  schooner  think  of  our  runnin'  it  into  the  creek, 
and  leaving  it  there,  while  we  go  off  with  the  boat  ? 
Too  many  cooks  spile  the  broth,  joii  know, — 
'twouldn't  do  for  them  to  know  about  it, — we  couldn't 
keep  the  thing  from  leakin'  oat  'fore  we'd  pockited 
the  swag." 

"You  are  right,"  answered  the  skipper,  "when  yon 
say  it  would  be  best  to  hide  the  thing  from  Barton 
and  the  niggers,  though  I  think  it  could  be  carried 
safely  through,  even  were  any  of  'em  to  find  it  out. 
I've  prepared  Barton  for  stopping  the  schooner  at  the 
place.  He's  very  fond  of  fishing,  and  I  told  him  not 
long  since  that  the  mouth  of  the  creek  was  the  finest 
fishing  place  upon  the  coast,  and  that  some  day  when 
we  were  not  pressed  for  time  we'd  lay  by  there,  and 
have  a  day  or  two's  sport.  When  the  schooner  is  all 
snug  in  the  creek,  we  could  tell  him  we  were  going 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  201 

to  see  an  old  friend,  who  lived  close  by, — tliat  Ave 
wouldn't  be  gone  long,  and  that  he  must  keep  a  sharp 
look-out,  and  take  care  of  everything  Avhile  we  were 
aw^ay.  A  dull  leather-headed  fellow,  like  Barton, 
wouldn't  suspect  anything,  and  would  remain  here 
stupidly  satisfied  were  we  absent  a  week." 

"But  s'pose,"  observed  Myers,  evidently,  however, 
falhng  into  the  views  of  the  other, — "s'pose  there's 
allers  somebody  with  the  gal  when  she  comes  down 
to  the  spring — what  then  ?  'Twouldn't  do  to  stay  hid 
here  long  waitin'  for  a  chance  for  her  to  be  by  herself 
— 'twould  be  too  risky." 

"I  tell  you,"  rephed  Crossland,  "she  almost  always 
w^alks  to  the  spring  in  the  morning  alone — her  sister 
then  being  employed  about  the  house.  I  got  that 
from  the  servants.  And  we'd  have  to  take  her  in  the 
mo  ruins:,  if  w^e  failed  to  oet  a  chance  at  her  in  the 
evening.  Seizing  her  in  the  morning  would  force  us 
to  lie  all  day  on  the  other  side  of  the  island  there. 
It's  a  marsh  and  a  jungle  and  affords  a  secure  hiding- 
hole  for  the  boat.  We'd  get  back  to  the  schooner  at 
night,  smuggle  her  into  this  cabin,  where  I  could  keep 
her  quiet  very  easy,  until  some  time  during  the  next 
night,  you  and  me  and  Ned  could  land  her,  from  the 
boat,  at  Ben's,  and  the  heavy  work  would  be  done." 

"I  know,"  said  Myers,  "sheVl  be  safe  at  Ben's. 
There  aint  a  house  in  several  miles  of  him.  He  don't 
like  company,  and  allers  used  to  say  that  he  was 
gwine  to  git  him  a  home,  w^here  nobody'd  come,  and 
he's  done  it.     But,"  remarked  he,   after  a  pause,  in 


202  UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

which  he  was  occupied  in  mixing  and  drinking  a 
toddj,  "it  'pears  to  me  the  big  trouble's  to  come  after 
the  gal's  got  to  Ben's  shanty.  Who's  to  see  Munson, 
and  wind  up  the  business  ? — and  how'll  he  keep  from 
being  cribbed  ? — I'd  like  for  jer  to  tell  me  that." 

"Ben  is  the  man  to  manage  that  part  of  the  affair. 
He's  quick  and  sharp,  and  what's  more,  Munson  has 
never  seen  him;  so,  if  he  goes,  no  clew  will  be  fur- 
nished, as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  girl  or  the  par- 
ties who  carried  her  away.  There  would  not  be  a 
particle  of  danger  in  going  to  old  Munson  with  the 
proposition,  if  the  matter  is  shrewdly  managed.  So 
anxious  would  he  be  about  her,  that  he  would  run  no 
risk  of  her  speedy  recovery  by  any  attempt  forcibly 
to  arrest  Ben.  And  if  he  should  give  a  check  for  the 
money,  and  say,  that  there  .should  be  no  trouble  about 
it — the  dollars  would  come  sure.  He's  a  man  that 
stands  right  square  up  to  his  word  when  it's  once 
passed.  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  trust  to  his  honor, 
and  even  yield  up  the  girl  before  presenting  the  paper 
at  the  bank  to  be  cashed.  But  let  us  first  get  her  in 
possession,  and  I  have  no  fears  of  our  being  able  to 
make  such  arrangements  for  concluding  the  business, 
as  will  set  at  rest  all  your  doubts  and  suspicions." 

That  an  accomplished  scoundrel,  like  Crossland, 
should  have  such  implicit  faith  in  the  honor  and 
truthfulness  of  the  old  sailor,  ought  not  to  be  at  all 
surprising.  It  more  frequently  happens,  than  is  gen- 
erally believed,  that  men  acknowledge,  Avhile  they  fail 
to  appreciate,  those  virtues  in  others,  of  which  they 
are  themselves  utterly  destitute. 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  203 

"Crosslancl,"  continued  Myers,  "a  thing,  like  this, 
should  be  looked  at  all  round.  S'pose  now  we  make 
a  mess  of  it,  and  get  ourselves  nabbed  by  the  land 
sharks  ? " 

"There's  no  danger  of  it,  I  tell  you." 

"But  s'pose  we  should?"  persisted  the  other. 

"Well,"  said  Crossland,  significantly,  "with  the 
State  ruled  by  our  folks,  and  with  our  folks  on  the 
judge's  bench,  in  the  jury-bos,  and  on  the  witness- 
stand  too,  for  that  matter,  we'd  be  certain  to  come  out 

all  right." 

Nothing  further  was  said  by  the  two  ruffians.  It 
was  unnecessary.  That  they  Avere  fully  agreed  was 
plain.  After  a  ringing  touch  of  the  glasses  in  taking 
a  parting  drink  they  separated  for  the  night.  The 
villainy,  which  they  meditated,  when  considered  in 
connection  with  all  its  accessories,  was  the  very  re- 
finement of  diabohsm.  The  systematic  deliberation 
with  which  it  was  planned  ;  the  treachery  and  ingrat- 
itude directing  and  upholding  it ;  the  artful  and  thor- 
ough  preparation  made  for  its  success ;  the  proposed 
use  of  the  old  man's  own  vessel  in  the  accomplishment 
of  it ;  the  coolness  with  which  it  was  discussed,  and 
the  nicety  with  which  every  point  was  weighed, — 
stamped  it  with  an  atrocity  almost  unparalleled.  But 
it  has  been  shown  how  the  design,  in  its  attempted 
execution,  was  happily  foiled  by  the  gallantry  and 
resolution  of  Guy  Brent  worth. 


204:  UXDEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 


CHAPTER  YII. 


Ah  me  !  foi-  aught  tliat  ever  I  could  read, 

Could  ever  hear  by  tale  or  hl.-<tor\-, 

The  course  of  true  love  uever  did  run  smooth. 

Shakspeake. 


It  was  ttie  morning  that  Guy  had  fixed  for  his  de- 
parture from  Fairslope.  He  had,  however,  determined 
to  put  it  off'  for  one  more  day.  Grace  and  he  at  last 
fully  understood  each  other  ;  and  she  had  referred  him 
to  her  father.  He  felt  it  his  duty  to  explain  the  sit- 
uation to  the  old  sailor  before  leaving-, — hence  the 
postponement.  He  found  Charles  Munson  in  the 
room,  which  he  called  his  cabin,  busily  engaged  in  the 
examination  of  a  large  package  of  papers.  They  were 
immediately  laid  aside,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  and 
the  cordial  remark: 

''  I  am  glad  to  see  that  violent  excitement  and  ex- 
ertion have  done  you  no  harm.  Grace  has  surprised 
me, — I  mean,  in  the  way  she  has  borne  up.  I  was 
afraid  the  shock  to  her  nervous  system  Avould  have 
prostrated  her.  A  little  w'earied  in  appearance  yes- 
terday, this  morniog  she  seems  fresh  and  buoyant : — 
Thank  God  for  his  goodness  and  mercy  !" 


UXDER    THE    MAG>.OLIA.  205 

Guy  indeed  was  looking  remarkably  well.  The 
object  of  his  visit  had  given  a  much  stronger  flush  to 
liis  cheek  and  brightness  to  his  eye  than  was  usual  to 
either.  As  soon  as  he  took  the  chair  offered  him, 
Avhich  was  immediately  in  front  of  his  host,  he  boldly 
and  at  once  entered  upon  the  subject,  with  which  his 
mind  was  filled;  and  in  a  firm  and  deliberate  tone, 
and  in  clear,  concise  language,  went  through  with  it, — 
without  hesitation,  and  apparentlj'  without  embarrass- 
ment, 3^et  with  evident  marks  of  deep  and  sincere 
feeling.  When  Gay  concladed,  Charles  Munson — the 
upper  part  of  Avhose  face  had,  for  some  time,  been 
shaded  by  his  hand, — his  elbow  resting  upon  the  table 
at  his  side, — looked  up,  and  spoke  mildly.  But  his 
words,  in  spite  of  the  gentleness  of  his  tone,  cut 
throuc>;h  Guv  like  a  knife. 

"Plain  dealino;''  said  he,  "is,  under  all  circum- 
stances,  best.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  accustomed  to 
act,  and  speak  plainly.  I  shall  certainly  do  so  in  this 
'instance.  You  have  astonished  me,  Guy,  greatly  by 
this  communication.  I  never  expected  it.  From 
what  I  had  heard  of  you,  and  from  what  I  have  seen 
of  you,  since  you  came  here,  I  had  no  thought  of  your 
marrying,  or  wishing  to  marry  soon — if  at  all.  Why, 
my  son,  it  was  only  three  or  foiir  days  ago  that  I  heard 
you  say  to  my  daughters,  that  everything  about 
woman  was  beautiful  and  tasteful  and  little, — and 
that,  by  the  power  she  had  of  drawing  the  minds  of 
man  into  the  same  narrow  circle  in  which  her  own 
revolved,   the   history  of  many  a  noble  life  had  been 


206  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

lost  to  the  world.  This  Avas  spoken  laughingly,  of 
conrse ;  but  earnestness  of  feeling  and  opinion  are 
frequently  covered  by  a  laugh  ;  and  I  doubted  not  it 
was  so  in  this  case." 

Had  delicacy  permitted,  Guy  could,  with  truth, 
have  replied  that  this  was  the  raere  idle  talk  of  an 
idle  boy ;  and  that,  although  but  a  few  days  had 
elapsed,  since  their  utterance,  they  were  to  him  days 
full  of  mighty  events, — producing  in  him  a  change 
equally  as  mighty, — in  a  word,  like  many  others,  he 
had,  by  one  sudden  leap,  passed  forever  from  the  stage 
of  boyhood,  to  that  of  manhood.  He  felt  all  this,  but 
remained  silent.     Charles  Munson  continued  : 

"  You  know  hoAV  great  is  my  attachment  to  your 
uncle  :  and  I  will  say  there  is  no  man  living  that  I 
Avould  be  so  happy  to  have  as  an  uncle  for  my  girl  as 
Hubert  Brentworth.  My  debt  of  gratitude  to  you 
also  is  so  o-reat  that, " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  I  implore  you,"  broke  in  Guy 
impetuously, — "  don't  speak  of  that — I  deserve  no 
gratitude — no  thanks.  What  I  did  for  her,  I  should 
have  done  for  any  other  girl  under  similar  circum- 
stances ; — and  as  much  as  I  love  her,  I  should  be 
strongly  tempted  to  go  away  from  her  forever,  were 
you  to  ofler  me  her  hand,  influenced  in  any  degree 
to  do  so,  by  that  little  accidental  act  of  service  to 
her." 

"  I  am  bound  to  speak  of  gratitude — I  am  bound  to 
feel  it,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  To  jon,  your  mere 
exertions  in  the  matter  may    seem   small.     To  me, 


UNDEK   THE   MAGNOLIA.  207 

they  do  not  appear  so, — and,  Avhen  considered  in  con- 
nection with  their  results, — the}^  are  valuable  beyond 
all  reach  of  calculation.  You  have  said,  though,  you 
would  not  have  me  give  you  my  daughter  through 
gratitude.  The  sentiment  is  just.  You  ought  not  to 
wish  it ;  and  I  ought  not  do  it.  And  yet, — I  must 
say  it,  however  painful  the  words, — that  were  I  to 
give  her  to  you  this  morning,  the  only  reasons  I  could 
offer,  to  satisfy  my  judgment,  for  the  action,  would  be 
gratitude  to  you  and  affection  for  your  uncle.  You 
have  in  you  many  of  the  elements  of  a  man.  The 
events  of  that  terrible  evening  have  convinced  me 
that  you  have  some,  which  I  had  not  hitherto  attrib- 
uted to  you — boldness  and  unselfishness.  But  these, 
joined  with  high  moral  principle,  which  I  feel  sure  is 
part  of  your  nature,  are  not  enough  in  the  man,  who 
may  hope  to  win  Grace  from  me.  He  must  have 
energy  and  fixedness  of  purpose:  and  these, — you  must 
forgive  the  harshness  of  expression, — I  fear,  indeed  I 
believe,  you  do  not  possess.  A  man  may  be  excellent 
in  morals,  and  brilliant  in  talents,  but  without  oneness 
of  purpose  to  direct,  and  energy  to  execute,  he  can 
never  rise  to  the  dignity  of  full  and  complete  man- 
hood. But,"  continued  Charles  Munson,  with  some- 
thing hke  a  tear  in  his  eye, — there  certainly  were 
tears  in  his  voice, — "  I  have  wounded  you  with  my 
plain  speaking ;  you  must  bear  in  mind,  however, 
that  I  have  wounded  myself  too.  This  talk  has  really 
been  one  of  the  greatest  afflictions  of  my  life.  While 
there  is  no  reason  for  me  to  say  more  on  this  subject^ 


208  UXDEE    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

justice  to  GJ-race,  to  you  and  to  mj^self,   required  I 
should  say  no  less." 

Charles  Munson  stopped.  A  few  moments  of •  un- 
broken silence  ensued.  Guy  arose,  with  conflicting 
emotions  in  his  heart,  that  of  wounded  self-love  evi- 
dently predominating,  as  they  manifested  themselves 
in  his  i)ale  face,  working^  features  and  olitterino'  eves. 
He  would  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  but  muttering  a 
hasty  good  morning,  he  hurried  from  the  house,  and 
down  the  eminence  on  the  side  leading  to  the  open 
countrv.  The  controlling  idea  with  him  was  to  sepa- 
rate himself  from  everybody,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
get  away  from  any  of  his  usual  haunts,  which,  he  felt, 
AYOuld  add  to  the  pain  of  his  heart  and  the  distraction 
of  his  mind.  He  came  to  a  small  clump  of  trees  in  a 
little  glen,  lying  between  two  inconsiderable  hills,  out 
of  sight  of  Fairslope  and  out  of  sight  of  the  Gulf. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  grass.  The  struggle 
within  him  was  long  and  violent, — passion  for  some 
minutes,  had  the  mastery, — but  finally  better  feelings 
prevailed.  His  good  sense  told  him,  as  soon  as  he 
became  cool  enough  to  enquire  of  it,  that  Charles 
Munson's  course  was  founded  in  love  for  his  daughter 
and  anxiety  for  her  welfare ;  and  that  whether  all  he 
had  said  with  regard  to  himself,  was  true,  or  not,  he 
had  reason  to  believe  it  so.  "  Have  I  not,"  asked  he 
musingly,  "  been  led  heretofore  by  the  seductions  of 
fancy,  rather  than  the  dictates  of  sober  reason  ?  Have 
I  not  acted  in  such  way  as  to  appear  frivolous,  unsta- 
ble, vain  and  effeminate?"     The  direction  here  taken 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  209 

by  Gay's  mind  was  bound  to  bring  about  a  healthy 
reaction,  if  backed  by  will,  and, — it  had  as  well  be  said 
now,  for  it  is  true, — he  had  about  him  all  the  stufi"  of 
which  heroes  and  martyrs  were  made.  The  expres- 
sion upon  his  face,  as  he  turned  his  steps  toward  his 
uncle's  cottage,  was  sad,  but  it  was  ennobled  by  high 
resolve.  "  Grace  can  never  be  mine,"  he  said  mourn- 
fully, as  he  walked  slowly  along  ; — "  her  father's  im- 
pressions— prejudices — against  me  are  too  strong  to 
be  easily  removed — it  will  require  the  work  of  years, 
and  then — too  late — too  late  !"  he  exclaimed  broken- 
ly ;  "  but,"  continued  he  firmly,  "  I  will  show  him  I 
am  not  the  worthless  thing  he  esteems  me."  Then 
risino-  above  the  narrowness  of  sentiment  which 
marked  his  last  words,  he  said  :  "  I  will  let  the  world 
know  that  I  am  at  least  worthy  to  live  in  it, — '  I  will,' 
concluded  he,  unconsciously  quoting  the  fine  words  of 
Longfellow,  '  be  no  longer  a  dreamer  among  shadows, 
but  a  man  among  men.'  " 

Upon  reaching  the  cottage,  Hubert  Brentworth  saw 
that  something  unusual  had  happened,  and  asked  his 
nephew  what  was 'the  matter. 

Guy  told  him  all — all  that  shame  did  not  force  him 
to  keep  back.  His  uncle,  equable  in  temperament 
and  placid  in  manner,  though  much  suprised  and 
shocked,  gave  no  signs  of  either  feeling, — not  wishing 
to  add  to  the  young  man's  excitement  and  trouble. 
He  therefore  began  to  talk  to  him  calmly,  and  not 
unhopefully, — the  more  so,  as  Guy  had  not  fully  com- 
9^ 


210  UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

municated  to  him  tlie  reasons  upon  which,  the  old 
sailor  had  based  his  refusal. 

"  I  have  never  mentioned  Grace's  name  to  vou,  he- 
fore  this  moment,''  said  Hubert  Brent  worth — "  I  have 
never  spoken  of  you  to  her.  I  did  not  believe  it  right 
to  do  either.  Is'ow,  however,  I  can  speak  freely. 
While  Grace  was  spending  the  last  winter  in  Mobile — 
her  first  after  leaving  school, — hearing  of  the  gaiety 
of  the  city,  and  the  number  of  her  admirers, — I  feared 
she  would  hardly  return  to  Fairslope  heart-whole. 
But  she  did  so,  and, — what  I  was  also  much  gratified 
at, — she  came  back,  caring  nothing  for  that  which  is 
ordinarily  so  alluring  to  the  young  and  beautiful,  the 
show  and  sparkle  of  fashionable  life.  I  have  often 
told  you  I  wanted  you  to  marry.  I  now  tell  you  that 
it  has  been  one  of  the  prime  hopes  of  my  latter  years 
to  see  you  the  husband  of  the  woman  upon  whom 
your  choice  has  fallen.  It  is  a  misfortune  that  the 
circumstances,  attending  her  rescue,  forced  from  each 
of  vou,  at  this  time,  a  betraval  of  vour  feelingrs,  as 
that  necessarily  required  that  the  matter  should  at 
once  be  laid  before  her  father.  It  would  have  been 
better  for  you,  before  addressing  Grace  on  the  subject, 
to  have  Avaited  until  you  had  taken  that  stand  in  the 
world,  which  would  have  justified  her  father  in  giving 
his  consent  to  your  union.  The  mischief,  however, 
has  been  done,  Guy ;  and  all  that  remains  for  you, 
under  the  circumstances,  is,  to  return  home — go  to 
work — show,  by  your  energy,  capacity  and  upright- 
ness, that  you  are  not  unworthy  of  Grace.     She  is  the 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  211 

finest  girl  T  ever  knew — is  worth  waiting  for — labor- 
ing for  and  struggling  for.  I  will  have  a  talk  with. 
Charles  Munson  during  the  day,  and ." 

"  Don't  mention  this  matter  to  him,"  said  Guy  ve-  * 
hemently.     "  I  would  not  have  you    do  it    for  the 
world." 

"  Of  course  I  will  not  suggest  it.     He  will  be  sure 
to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  talking  it  over  with 


me." 


It  will  never  be  known  exactly  what  passed  be- 
tween the  old  sailor  and  Hubert  Brentworth,  when 
they  next  met.  The  nature  of  the  conversation  can, 
however,  be  inferred,  from  the  last  words,  which  were 
heard,  when  the  door  of  the  "  cabin"  opened,  and  they 
together  walked  out  into  the  hall.  Both  of  them 
seemed  greatly  disturbed.  "  For  the  reasons  men- 
tioned, Hubert,  I  cannot  consent,"  said  Charles  Mun- 
son,— "  I  will  ncA^er  consent, — no,"  continued  he  im- 
patiently, ^Tll  see  her  in  Jericho  first!  But  my  old 
friend,"  immediately  added  he,  putting  his  hand  upon 
Hubert  Brentworth's  shoulder,  "  don't  think  that  the 
impatience  I  have  manifested,  was  directed  at  you — 
it  was  rather  directed  at  myself,  because  I  could  not 
do  Avhat  you  desire,  and  what,  were  it  not  impossible, 
I  should  desire  mvself." 


212  UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


I've  seen  the  last  look  of  lier  lieavenly  eye.*, — 
I've  heard  the  last  soiind  of  her  blessed  voice, — 
I've  seen  her  fair  form  from  my  .sight  dei>a  t. 

Basil. 


I  must  from  this  land  begone 
Because  I  cannot  love  but  one. 

Byron. 


Guy  was  ready  to  set  out  for  Mon^^^gomery  earlj-  the 
next  morning.  It  was  his  purpose  to  go  by  way  of 
Pensacola.  His  uncle  was  greatly  troubled  wlien  he 
came  to  bid  him  adieu.  He  would  have  parted  from 
him,  under  any  circumstances,  with  pain, — but  on  the 
present  occasion,  appreciating,  in  fact,  over-estimating 
the  dangers  of  his  situation,  from  an  experience  of 
liis  youthful  wilfulness,  impulsiveness,  and  distaste  of 
labor,  he  took  his  hand,  when  it  was  offered,  with 
many  anxious  forebodings.  This  would  not  have 
been  the  case, — at  any  rate,  he  would  have  been  less 
solicitous, — had  he  understood,  at  the  moment,  the 
great  burden  of  the  young  man's  thoughts,  feelings 
and  aspirations. 

"Guy,"  said  he,  with  that  patient  and  gentle  firm- 


UXDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  213 

ness  of  manner  characteristic  of  him,  "  jou  must  not 
give  A\-aj  to  despondency, — you  must  not  forget  what 
is  due  to  j^ourself,  to  your  father's  memory,  and  to 
your  father's  house.  You  must  meet  this  misfortune 
stoutly ; — and  I  cannot  urge  upon  you  too  strongly 
the  necessit}^  of  your  entering,  at  once,  honestly  and 
bravely,  upon  your  life-work.  Do  this,  my  boy,  and, 
although  nothing  ought  to  be  held  out  to  one,  as  a 
reward  for  such  exertion,  except  the  smiles  of  an  ap- 
proving conscience,  in  duties  well  and  faithfully  dis- 
charged, disappointment  will  soon  lose  its  power  to 
afflict  you,  success  will  crown  you,  and,  I  hope,  Grace 
will  yet  be  your  wife." 

Guy  had  written  a  few  lines  to  Grace,  which  he  had 
left  upon  the  table  in  his  uncle's  chamber.  In  the 
note  he  simply  told  her  that  he  did  not  have  the  cour- 
age to  meet  her  again — it  would  but  add  to  the  grief 
of  their  separation, — she  must  forget  him — that  was 
her  best  and  wisest  course.  "I  would,"  he  concluded, 
"forget  you  if  I  could."  The  last  words  were  almost 
ground  through  the  paper  by  the  nervous  hand  that 
dashed  them  olF.  Telling  his  uncle  to  see  that  the 
note  was  delivered,  he  drove  rapidly  away,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  In  less  than  an  hour  Grace  had  his 
few  hurried  words  of  farewell  in  her  hands.  Their 
abruptness,  bordering  on  fierceness,  greatly  moved  her. 
She  knew  it  arose  from  the  strength  and  intensity  of 
his  affection,  rebelling  at  the  fate  which  had  separated 
them.  As  has  before  been  intimated,  she  understood 
Guy  better  than  any  one, — therefore  she  loved  him ; 


21-i  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

and  this  knowledge  enabled  her  to  bear  what  appeared 
to  be  their  final  separation, — for  her  father  had  told 
her,  that,  with  his  consent,  they  could  never  marry, — 
silently,  uncomplainingly,  untearfully. 

Guy  heard  in  Pensacola  that  the  schooner  from 
Fairslope  had  arrived  a  few  days  before, — that  Cross- 
land  had,  in  some  way,  been  badly  hurt  during  its 
passage, — and  that  both  he  and  Myers  had  suddenly 
decamped  with  several  hundred  dollars  entrusted  to 
them  for  delivery  to  Charles  Munson.  He  immedi- 
ately wrote  the  facts  to  his  uncle,  as  they  corroborated 
the  suspicions,  Avhich  he  had  entertained  and  ex- 
pressed, with  regard  to  the  principal  in  the  violence 
ouered  to  Grace. 

When  he  reached  Montgomery,  he  learned  that  two 
of  his  friends  in  that  city  had  made  up  a  party  to  visit 
Nevada.  They  expected  to  engage  in  mining.  He 
regarded  the  movement  with  but  little  attention  or 
interest,  except  in  the  prospective  loss  by  it  of  two  old 
companions,  whom  he  greatly  esteemed.  For  several 
days  he  wandered  about  from  place  to  place,  goaded 
by  a  spirit  of  unrest,  which  defied  all  his  eft'orts  at 
control.  The  transition  in  his  life  had  been  so  sudden 
and  thorough. — and  so  full  of  difficulties  and  darkness 
were  his  surroundings, — that  he  was  bewildered,  like 
one  lost  in  the  trackless  mazes  of  a  vast  forest.  He 
felt  that  labor,  as  was  urged  so  persistently  upon  him 
by  his  uncle — vigorous,  unremitting  labor, — was  not 
only  what  duty,  but  what  (contentment  pointed  out  as 
the  price  of  her  favors.     Many  a  stroug  man  had  been 


UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  215 

prostrated  by  such  a  blow,  as  be  had  lately  received ; 
it  was,  however,  only  the  weak  and  feeble,  he  knew, 
who  failed  to  recover, — and  among  these  he  was  de- 
termined not  to  be  classed.  The  resolution  he  had 
formed  in  the  self- struggle,  that  succeeded  his  last  talk 
with  the  old  sailor,  was  as  strong  as  ever,  and  he  was 
sure,  it  would  be  as  lasting  as  life.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  continue  at  his  profession  of  the  law,  and 
in  it,  if  possible,  win  wealth  and  honors ;  but  to  him 
then,  destitute  of  a  single  brief,  it  presented  no  field 
for  active  exertion  ;  and  active  exertion  was  what  he 
required  at  once.  Sensible  of  this,  and  believing  that 
a  change  of  scene,  and  the  excitement  incident  to  it, 
were  necessary  to  enable  him  to  enter  upon  the  path 
marked  out  in  that  resolution,  with  the  force  and  ardor 
requisite  to  success,  he  took  advantage  of  the  oppor- 
tunity, in  this  behalf,  afforded  him  by  the  expedition 
to  Nevada,  and  became  one  of  the  party.  The  night 
before  the  morning  agreed  on  by  the  company  for  its 
departure,  while  sitting  in  his  room,  looking  over  and 
destroying  unimportant  papers,  he,  by  chance,  placed 
his  hand  upon  the  tin  case  containing  his  college 
diploma,  and  law  license.  "I  will  hardly  need  these," 
thoug-ht  he,  "in  the  mountains  of  Nevada,  but  I  like 
always  to  have  them  about  me ; "  and  he  dropped  the 
case  in  his  small  leather  traveling  sachel.  Pie  then 
wrote  to  his  uncle  of  his  intended  journey,  and  its 
object,  closing  with  the  statement  that  he  would  not 
be  long  absent.  The  next  sim,  in  setting,  shone  upon 
him  and  his  young  companions,  far  to  the  westward. 


216  UNDER   THE    MAGXOLIA. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Being  skilless  in  these  parts,  wliich  to  a  stranger, 
Uuguided  and  unfriended,  often  prove 
Eough  and  inliospitable. 

Twelfth  Night. 


He  drew  himself  uj),  bent  his  brows,  assumed  a  look  of  professional  ferocity, 
and  continued  :  "Look  j-e,  a  man  must  be  neighborly  and  companionable.  Zounds, 
sir,  we  would  slit  any  nose  that  was  turned  up  at  us  honest  fellows.     *     *     * 

Are  you  seeking  a  quarrel,  sir  ? — said  Nigel,  calmly,  having,  in  truth,  no  desire 
to  engage  himself  in  a  discreditaVde  brawl  with  such  a  character. 

Quarrel,  sir  ? — I  am  not  seeking  a  quarrel,  but  I  care  not  how  soon  I  find  one. 

FoKTUNKS   OF    NlUEL. 


Nearly  two  years  had  gone  by  since  tlie  commence- 
ment of  Guy's  western  wanderings.  During  that  time 
his  career  had  been  marked  by  many  strange  and 
trying  vicissitudes.  He  had  entered  regularly  into 
the  business  of  mining,  and  had  really  worked  like  a 
dray-horse.  He  had,  however,  met  with  but  indiffer- 
ent success,  outside  of  the  strength  imparted  to  mind 
and  body,  by  labor  well  performed,  perils  and  disas- 
ters bravely  met,  and  hardships  cheerfully  borne.  It 
was  a  delicious  evening  in  the  early  part  of  the  fall, 
that  he  was  seen  upon  one  of  the  principal  roads, 
leading  from  the  interior  of  the  country  to  Virginia 
City,  from  which  he  was  distant  but  little  more  than 


UXDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  217 

a  mile.  lie  had  left  the  stage-coach,  as  it  slowly  and 
laboriously  mounted  one  of  the  series  of  long,  rocky 
acclivities,  over  which  the  road  winds  in  its  ascent  to 
that  elevated  place,  and  having  attained  the  few  hund- 
red yards  of  level  plain  upon  its  immediate  summit, 
was  walking  forward  with  a  firm  and  rapid  step.  The 
atmosphere  was  cool  and  bracing,  and,  by  its  great 
height  above  sea-level,  was  so  rare  and  pure,  that  it 
had  upon  him  an  effect  somewhat  similar  to  that  which 
would  have  been  produced  by  inhaling  a  quantity  of 
protoxide  of  nitrogen.  He  was  humming  one  of  the 
old  songs  of  his  boyhood,  which  he  would  now  and 
then  interrupt,  by  stopping  to  look,  with  a  kindling 
eye,  upon  the  broad  scene  of  closely  commingled  vale, 
hill  and  mountain, — glen,  peak  and  crag, — spread  out 
far  below  and  around  him, — where  the  earth  seemed 
to  have  been  fashioned  by  nature  in  one  of  her  most 
capricious  moods, — where,  indeed,  was  displayed  every 
conceivable  form  of  beauty,  from  outlines,  the  softest 
and  gentlest,  to  those  of  the  wildest  and  most  rugged 
grandeur, — the  whole,  at  one  view,  presenting  a  pic- 
ture, which,  Guy  thought  not  to  see  was  a  misfortune, 
and  once  to  see  was  a  joy  forever. 

Guy  had  changed  considerably  since  the  reader  had 
last  seen  him  in  Montgomerj^  His  face  was  bronzed, 
and  its  lines  were  harder  and  firmer, — his  body  showed 
sharper  angles,  and  a  greater  breadth  of  shoulder  and 
depth  of  chest, — and  the  sinews  looked  like  whip-cord 
upon  the  back  of  his  broad  hands,  as  they  ran  down 
and  lost  themselves  in  his  lono-  supple  finerers.  On 
10 


218  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

tlie  wliole,  if  not  so  smoothly  handsome,  he  was  de- 
cidedly a  nobler  looking  man.  In  appearance,  too,  he 
had  aged  rapidly.  He  did  not  look  a  day  under  thirty. 
The  road,  in  entering  the  city,  opened  npon  rather 
a  broad  thoroughfare,  which,  turning  slightly  to  the 
left,  formed  an  acute  angle  with  the  one,  that  leading 
straight  forward,  seemed  to  Guy  most  likely  to  con- 
duct him  into  the  heart  of  the  place,  where  he  sup- 
posed the  principal  hotel  would  be  found.  Continu- 
ing in  this  street,  for  a  few  minutes,  he  came  to  a 
commodious  brick  store-house,  in  front  of  which  in 
the  shade  of  a  large  tree  were  one  or  two  empty  chairs 
and  a  wooden  bench.  Feeling  somewhat  wearied  by 
his  walk,  he  sat  down  in  one  of  the  chairs,  and  began 
to  look  carelessly  over  a  newspaper,  Avhich  he  found 
lying  upon  the  bench.  He  had  been  there  but  a  short 
time,  when  a  hoarse  voice  from  a  crowd  of  men  seated 
around  the  door  of  a  small  and  gaily  painted  structure 
adjoining  the  store-house,  attracted  his  attention,  as 
some  one  vociferated,  "I'll  kick  you  into  the  d — I's 
pit,  you  dog  ! "  and  he  looked  up  Id  time,  to  see  a  man 
and  a  chair  rolling  over  together  in  the  gutter.  The 
party,  who  had  been  thus  unceremoniously  treated, 
gathered  himself  up  at  once,  and  slunk  away,  greeted 
with  a  loud,  mocking  laugh,  evidently  from  the  one, 
who  did  the  kicking.  This  man  now  arose  from  his 
chair,  and  showed  to  Guy,  the  person  of  a  tall  and 
brawny  man,  almost  a  giant  in  stature,  the  lower  por- 
tion of  whose  face  was  concealed  by  a  long,  shaggy 
beard,  and  the  upper,  or  the  part  of  it,  which  could 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  219 

be  seen  under  the  broad-brimmed  felt  bat  pulled  down 
over  bis  brows,  was  covered  with  red  blotches  pro- 
duced by  hard  and  constant  whiskey-drinking.  He 
was  clad  in  a  suit  of  heavy  boating  cloth,  which  ended 
below  in  a  pair  of  rough  boots  reaching  to  his  knees. 
Striding  excitedly  up  and  down  the  sidewalk,  between 
the  door  of  the  store- house  and  that  of  the  saloon, 
before  which  he  had  been  sitting,  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
paused  close  by  his  party,  who  were  evidently  his 
admirers:  "I'm  spiling  for  a  fight!"  His  friends 
followed  his  warlike  exclamation  with  something 
between  a  laugh  and  a  cheer,  and  then  followed  him 
into  the  saloon  for  a  drink. 

Guy  had  observed,  when  he  came  up,  three  or  four 
men,  smoking  and  talking  together,  at  the  lower  end 
of  one  of  the  counters  in  the  back  part  of  the  store. 
About  this  time  one  of  them  came  out,  and  seated 
himself  in  one  of  the  chairs  near  him.  Guy  marked, 
from  a  hasty  glance  over  the  top  of  his  paper,  that 
the  new  comer  was  a  thin,  wiry  man,  apparently  about 
forty  years  of  age,  slightly  above  the  medium  height, 
with  a  pale  face,  an  intelligent  eye,  and  a  pleasing 
expression.  He  was  neatl}^  dressed  in  a  business-suit 
of  gray  cloth. 

"You  appear  to  be  a  stranger  and  a  traveler,"  said 
the  thin  man,  in  a  thin,  sharp  voice,  bringing  out  each 
word  with  a  sort  of  quick,  nervous  jerk. 

"Yes,"  replied  Guy,  "I  have  but  this  moment 
arrived  here  for  the  first  time  in  my  life." 

"Been  long  in  the  West — eh?"  asked  the  other. 


220  U^^DEE    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

"Not  very  long,"  answered  Guv.  "I  came  to  this 
country  last  spring  from  Alabama." 

"From  Alabama  ! — why,  I'm  from  Alabama,  myself 
■ — lived  here  so  long,  tliougli, — have  no  right  to  claim 
it  as  my  state.  Came  out  from  Huntsville  when  a 
small  boy,  with  my  father — he  was  among  the  first 
that  the  gold-fever  started  from  the  Gulf-States  in  this 
direction.     AVhat  might  be  your  name  ?  " 

"Gny  Brentworth." 

"  Well, — my  name's  Phil.  Melton, — that's  a  Western 
introduction.  I'm  glad  to  meet  you  over  here, — 
almost  as  much  so,  as  if  I'd  known  you  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Mississippi.  Majdiap  j^ou'li  be  pleased  to 
learn  there's  several  old  Alabamians  in  this  city.  You 
won't  feel  so  lonely  while  you  sta}^." 

Guy  was  amused  at  the  free  and  easy  manners  of 
the  stranger,  as  well  as  pleased  with  his  appearance. 
There  was  something  about  the  man, — force  is  the  best 
word  to  express  it, — which  was  exhibited  in  tlie  strong 
lines  of  his  colorless  face, — in  the  workings  of  his 
lithe,  wiry  frame, — and  in  the  nervous  and  rapid 
utterance, — which  interested  Guy  greatly.  They  were 
in  the  midst  of  a  conversation  with  regard  to  Virginia 
City  and  its  people,  when  the  man,  who  was  "spihng 
for  a  fight,"  came  out  of  the  saloon. 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  ?  "  asked  Guy.  There  was  a 
hard  and  fierce  light  in  ^lelton's  eyes,  as  he  rej)lied  : 
"Bill  Brown— he's  called  the  Wild  Bull  of  the  Pacific 
Coast." 


UNDER   THE    MAG^^OLIA.  221 

"He  says  he  is  anxious  for  a  fight,"  observed  Guy. 
"I  hope  he  won't  take  a  notion  to  fight  us." 

'*No,"  answered  Melton — "you  are  a  stranger,  he'll 
hardly  interrupt  you,  and  me  he  wouldn't  dare  fight." 
Then  suddenly  springing  up,  he  continued :  "  Wait  for 
me  a  moment — want  to  speak  to  that  man  yonder," 
and  he  crossed  the  street,  and  locking  his  arm  in  that 
of  a  gentleman  who  was  passing  by,  he  turned  the 
corner  of  the  block  of  buildings  opposite,  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  Guy,  not  liking  the  neighborhood, 
was  in  the  act  of  rising  to  continue  his  walk,  when 
Brown  called  upon  all  to  take  another  drink  with  him. 
Looking  at  Guy,  he  said:  "You,  too,  stranger — come 
and  likker  with  us."  Guy  thanked  him,  but  declined. 
"  Come  along,  I  say,"  shouted  the  fellow.  Guy  excused 
himself,  by  stating  that  he  never  touched  spirits.  The 
beast,  maddened  by  whiskey,  and  by  the  evil  passions 
aroused  in  the  recent  struggle,  walked  up  to  Guy,  who 
was  still  seated,  and  crushing  his  hat  down  upon  his 
eves  with  one  hand,  and  seizinp^  his  left  arm  with  the 
other,  exclaimed,  with  a  terrible  oath  :  "  But  you  shall 
drink."  As  quick  as  thought, — but  not  as  one  of 
Guy's  thoughts  at  the  time, — unfortunately  he  did  not 
think, — had  he  done  so  perhaps  his  action  might  have 
been  difi:erent, — Guy's  right  arm  was  propelled  from 
his  body  with  the  force  of  a  catapult,  which,  catching 
the  rufiian  in  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  stretched  him 
senseless  on  the  o-round.  Guy  was  standing  with  his 
hands  lightly  resting  upon  the  back  of  his  chair,  when 
he  felt  something  heavy  fall  into  the  right  hand  pocket 


222  UXDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

of  his  sacque  coat.  Putting  his  hand  into  it,  he  felt 
a  large  five-shooter,  and,  looking  around,  in  some  as- 
tonishment, saw  at  his  side, — Phil.  Melton.  He  at 
once  experienced  that  rising  of  the  heart,  which  a  man 
always  feels,  when  alone  and  beset  b\'  difficulties  and 
dangers  in  a  strange  country,  he  unexpectedly  finds 
that  he  is  not  without  the  support  and  countenance 
of  a  friend.  Dazed  and  in  pain.  Brown,  after  a  few 
moments,  sloAvly  straightened  up  his  huge  form,  and 
giving  himself  one  or  two  vigorous  shakes  to  make 
sure  that  no  bones  were  broken,  he  dashed  the  hair 
from  his  eyes,  and  drawing  an  immense  knife,  rushed 
upon  Guy.  The  latter,  quickly  stepping  upon  the 
bench,  that  he  might  have  room  for  a  full  swing  of 
the  heavy  chair,  brought  it  down  with  crushing  force 
upon  the  head  of  the  desperado,  just  as  he  made  a 
furious  but  ineft'ectual  blow  with  his  fearful  weapon. 
Brown  fell,  as  falls  the  ox  before  the  axe  of  the  sham- 
bles ; — and  many  a  day  passed  before  he  was  able  to 
engage  in  his  usual  pastime  of  provoking  difficulties 
with  peaceable  and  unofiiending  men. 

Melton  went  with  Guy  to  the  hotel,  where  they 
found  the  coach,  which  had  preceded  them  but  a  few 
minutes.  TVith  a  delicacy,  which  Guy  did  not  expect, 
and  highly  appreciated,  the  disagreeable  brawl  into 
which  he  had  been  unwillingly  hurried,  and  which 
he  felt  was  a  degradation,  was  not  alluded  to  at  all, 
during  the  walk,  by  his  new-found  friend. 


UNDER   THE   MAGXOLIA.  223 


CHAPTER  X. 


And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, — 

A  charm  that  hills  to  sleep  ; 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 

And  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep. 

Goldsmith. 


During  the  course  of  a  conversation  between  Guj 
and  Melton  the  next  morning,  the  latter  said :  "  By 
the  way  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  one  of  our  Ala- 
bamians  out  here  is  in  great  distress.  Court  will  sit 
in  this  place  next  week  ;  and  he's  to  be  tried  for  mur- 
der. The  circumstances  against  him  are  very  strong 
— so  is  the  feeling  among  the  people.  I'm  afraid  he'll 
hang.  But  I  don't  believe  him  guilty.  If  anybody 
believes  with  me  though,  I  don't  know  it.  He's  an 
old  man — poor  and  without  friends, — but  Paul  Win- 
not  " 

"  Paul  Winnot !" — exclaimed  Guy — "  Paul  Winnot 
did  I  understand  you  to  say  ?" 

"Yes,  that's  his  name,"  rejoined  his  companion, 
looking  up  with  some  surprise. 

"  My  father  had  an  old  friend  in  Alabama  by  that 
name.     When  I  was  a  little  boy,  I  often  heard  him 


224  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

say  that  he  was  once  saved  from  absolute  beggary  by 
the  generous  confidence  and  kindness  of  a  Paul  Win- 
not.  I  have  heard  the  story,  too,  more  than  once 
from  my  uncle.  The  name  is  a  very  singular  one, 
and  he  is  old,  you  say,"  observed  Guy  musingly,  "  yet 
he  certainly  can't  be  my  father's  noble-hearted  friend. 
Paul  Winnot  of  Alabama,  wealthy  and  popular,  might 
have  become  Paul  Winnot  of  Nevada,  poor  and 
friendless  ;  but  he  could  hardly  have  become  a  suspect- 
ed murderer,  with  the  evidence  all  tending  to  prove 
him  a  real  one.  However  I  should  like  to  see  him 
and  satisfy  myself." 

"  It's,  by  no  means,  certain  he's  not  your  man.  I 
know  he  was  once  rich.  After  losing  his  fortune,  he 
came  out  here,  years  ago,  hoping  to  make  another. 
But  he  didn't  do  it,  though.  Bad  luck  seemed  to  dog 
his  footsteps.  Everything  went  wrong  with  him. 
No  work  that  he  did  prospered.  But  his  last  work 
w^as  the  worst  of  all.  He  worked  himself  into  a  jail, 
with  a  fair  prospect  of  working  himself  out  by  the 
gallows.  You  want  to  see  him  ! — all  right — the 
sheriff  is  a  friend  of  mine — I'll  be  your  voucher. 
When  do  you  wish  to  go  ?" 

"  Now  ;    if  you  will  accompany  me." 

"  Of  course,  I  will — gladly." 

Under  the  pilotage  of  Melton,  Guy  had  no  difficulty 
in  obtaining  admission  to  Paul  Winnot's  dungeon. 
They  found  its  occupant  lying  upon  a  heap  of  straw 
in  one  of  the  angles  of  the  massive  walls.  But  few 
words  were  necessary  to  inform  the  young  man  that 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  225 

he  had,  in  truth,  discovered  his  father's  benefactor, 
in  the  wretched   being  before   him.     Although    the 
knowledge  was  not  altogether  unexpected,  it  never- 
theless affected  him  deeply.     With  many  expressions 
of  sympathy,  arid  offers  of  such  assistance  as  he  could 
render, — placing  at  the  same  time  his  purse  at  Win- 
not's  disposal,  which  unfortunately  was  by  no  means 
full, — he  requested  him  to  relate  all  the  facts  in  his 
distressing   case.     This   was   done   by   the   old   man 
plainly,    simply,  and  without    hesitation.     Guy    was 
concerned  to  find  that  all  of  them  pointed  directly  to 
the  narrator  as  the  party  guilty  of  the  murder ;  and 
yet  he  did  not,  for  an  instant,  doubt  his  asseveration 
of  innocence. 

"To  place  before  you,"  concluded  the  unhappy 
man,  "  the  whole  peril  of  my  situation,  it  is  only  nec- 
essary for  me  to  add  that  these  circumstances  against 
me  will  all  be  fully  and  clearly  proved,  while  I  will 
not  be  able,  as  far  as  I  know,  to  bring  forward  a  sin- 
gle fact  in  my  favor,  except  previous  good  character. 
In  addition  to  this  the  family  of  the  deceased  is 
wealthy  and  pow^erful,  and  have  secured  the  ablest 
law^yers  in  this  section  to  assist  the  attorney  for  the 
state.  I,  however,  am  too  poor  to  employ  counsel, 
and  will  have  to  depend  upon  the  one  assigned  me  by 
the  court.  He  may  be  without  ability  or  legal  infor- 
mation,— will  certainly  be  young,  without  much  ex- 
perience,— and  will  perhaps  take  but  little  interest  in 
my  case.  The  people  too  hereabouts  have  generally 
prejudged  and  condemned  me.     The  prospect  before 


226  UNDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

me  is  gloomy — gloomy.  I  should  not  so  greatly  mind 
what  seems  to  be  in  store  for  me,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  thought  of  the  deep  and  damning  stain,  which 
such  a  judgment  will  leave  upon  my  character,  never 
perhaps  to  be  wiped  away  in  this  world." 

Guy  scarcely  knew  what  repl}^  to  make  to  these 
words  so  full  of  the  pathos  of  utter  wretchedness  and 
hopelessness.  The  circumstances  appeared  to  demand 
imperatively  a  tender  of  his  professional  assistance  to 
AYinnot ;  but,  in  his  modesty,  he  rated  that  assistance 
so  slightly,  and  the  responsibility  likely  to  attend  such 
action  on  his  part  was  so  grave  and  hazardous,  that 
he- very  naturallv  hesitated.  But  after  manv  miso-iv- 
ings  and  much  anxious  pondering,  he  mustered  up  the 
*'do  or  die"  determination,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  something  of  a  lawyer,  myself — not  as  good 
one  as  I  should  be  o'lad  to  be  for  vour  sake ;  and  if 
you  desire  it,  I  will  undertake  to  defend  you.  The 
objections  you  urge  to  the  one,  who  would  probably 
be  selected  to  act  for  you  by  the  court,  apply  to  me, 
with  the  exception  of  a  Avant  of  interest  in  you,  and 
in  your  case.  There,  indeed,  I  am  sure  I  would  have 
greatly  the  advantage  of  any  lawyer  in  this  country. 
I  can't  engage  to  do  much  for  you, — but  I  will  engage 
to  do  all  in  my  poAver." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Winnot  rising,  and  catching  him 
by  the  hand, — "  I'll  take  you  ;  I  want  you.  Indeed 
you  are  the  very  man  for  me.  You  came  to  me  just 
when  I  was  in  need  of  such  a  friend,  and  when  there 
seemed  no  likelihood  of  that  need  being  supplied.     I 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  227 

will  take  it  as  a  happy  omen.  Surely  a  good  and  mer- 
ciful Providence  has  directed  you  to  me  in  my  sore 
trouble  and  affliction." 

With  the  promise  of  seeing  him,  as  often  as  possi- 
ble, before  the  day  of  trial,  Guy  and  Melton  took  their 
departure.  The  former  entered  at  once  upon  the  im- 
portant work,  he  had  so  hastily  and  generously  as- 
sumed. He  had  several  days  for  preparation.  A 
stranger  in  the  city,  he  found  in  Melton,  not  only  a 
willing,  but  an  invaluable  coadjutor.  This  singular 
man  seemed  to  be  greatly  attached  to  Winnot ;  and 
being  apparently  on  easy  and  familiar  terms  with  all 
the  leading  men  of  the  city,  he  introduced  Guy  to  sev- 
eral of  the  lawyers,  as  a  brother  attorney  from  Ala- 
bama, in  search  of  a  home,  and  thus  gained  for  him 
access  to  such  books  as  he  required  in  the  preparation 
of  his  case.  He  also  engaged  to  hunt  up  testimony  for 
Winnot — to  see  and  talk  with  the  leading  witnesses 
for  the  state — and  to  bring  the  result  of  his  investiga- 
tion to  Guy  in  a  few  days.  By  the  next  evening  the 
adventurous  young  attorney  was  in  possession  of  one 
or  two  fticts,  which  caused  him  to  regard  his  case  a 
little  more  hopefully. 


228  UXDEK   THE    MAGNOLIA. 


CHAPTER  XL 


His  face  was  rough,  but  love  refineil  it, 
His  manuer  iinle,  but  love  subdued  it, 
His  spirit  fierce,  but  love  o'ercajue  it. 

The  PiOBEEE. 


When  Guy  called  to  see  Paul  Winnot  the  morning 
before  the  opening  of  the  court,  he  found  a  lady  with 
him.  She  was  young,  scarcely  more  than  twenty, 
with  a  full,  round  face,  dark  eyes  and  hair.  She  was 
rather  low  in  stature,  but  lithe  and  graceful,  and 
dressed  very  becomingly  in  black.  Winnot  presented 
her  to  him,  as  Mrs.  Brown,  his  daughter,  and  only 
child.  Modest  and  pleasing  in  manner  and  sprightly 
in  conversation,  Guy  left  the  prison,  with  the  idea 
uppermost  in  his  mind,  that  she  was  not  merely  intel- 
ligent and  refined,  but  altogether  a  very  charming 
young  woman.  That  Paul  Winnot,  overAvhelmed 
with  his  afflictions,  should  not  have  thought  to  speak 
of  this  daughter,  at  any  of  their  hurried  meetings,  did 
not  at  all  surprise  him;  but  he  was  astonished  not  to 
have  heard  a  word  with  regard  to  her  from  Melton. 
When  he  next  met  him  he  casually  remarked  that  he 
had  that  day  met  Winnot's  daughter  at  the  prison. 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  229 

Melton,  who  orclinarilj  appeared  so  careless  and  in- 
different, and  seemed  really  to  regard  the  world  as 
his  oyster,  was  not  only  much  embarrassed,  but  even 
displayed  some  sjanptoms  of  agitation.  He,  however, 
did  not  reply.  Having  no  thought  of  allowing  the 
subject  to  drop  there,  Guy  said :  "  I  should  like  to 
know  something  about  this  Mrs.  Brown.  You  can 
give  me,  of  course,  all  the  information  I  desire." 

Melton  with  some  show  of  reluctance  answered: 
*'She  is  Paul  Winnot's  daughter — that  you  know. 
She  is  the  widow  of  Fred.  Brown, — -the  brother  of  the 
man  you  knocked  down — that  you  didn't  know. 
Married  last  June,  she  lost  her  husband  the  latter  part 
of  the  following  month.  He  was  killed  at  Gold  Hill, 
in  a  difficulty  with  a  party  of  miners." 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  fine  Avoman  ;  and  I  am  sur- 
prised at  her  marrjdng  such  a  fellow  as  I  suppose 
this  Brown  to  have  been,  from  what  I  have  seen  of 
his  brother." 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  fine  woman,"  said  Melton.  "  As 
long  as  the  matter  has  been  broached,  I  reckon  I  had 
better  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  want  to  talk  it 
over  with  somebody  any  way.  You  perhaps  will 
take  more  interest  in  it,  than  any  one  else  hereabouts. 
Well, — Jenny  Winnot  was  the  girl  I  had  picked  out 
for  my  wife.  I  had  been  a  wild  sort  of  buck  until  I 
fell  in  with  Winnot  a  few  years  ago.  By  trading — ■ 
sometimes  in  one  thing — sometimes  in  another — prin- 
cipally in  cattle  and  horses,— I  generally  had  monev 
enough  for  mj^  purposes.     Most  of  my  time,  when  I 


230  UNDEK   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

was  not  in  this  place,  was  passed  in  San  Francisco. 
Often  latterly  a  visitor  at  Paul  Winnot's  house,  it 
was  some  time  before  I  knew  exactly  what  carried  me 
there.  Finally  I  made  up  my  mind  it  was  the  black 
eyes  and  winning  ways  of  Jenny.  It  was  not  long 
afterwards  before  I  became  dissatisfied  with  my  rov- 
ing habits.  I  began  to  long  for  a  settled  home  ;  and 
to  long  a  great  deal  more  to  have  Jenny  at  the  head 
of  it.  In  fact,  in  my  mind,  she  and  home  went  to- 
gether. During  this  time,  too,  Fred.  Brown  often 
dropped  in  at  Winnot's.  He  was  a  different  looking 
man  from  his  brother.  He  was  a  dilFerent  acting 
man  also.  I  can't  say  he  was  any  better  though. 
Handsome,  dressy,  free  of  talk, — he  was  a  man  well 
calculated  to  tickle  a  woman's  fancy.  Jenny  liked 
his  company — I  could  see  that.  But  I  didn't  fear 
him  there.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  felt  safe  in  that  quar- 
ter. Eather  too  safe,  as  I  found  out  to  my  cost.  I 
hadn't  told  Jenny  that  I  loved  her, — thought  it  best 
to  wait  until  I  had  a  home  for  her.  She  knew  it,  I 
thought,  perfectly  well  though.  I  couldn't  have  hid 
it,  if  I  had  tried ;  and  I  didn't  try.  She  showed  me, 
I  was  sure, — maybe  I  was  mistaken, — that  she  under- 
stood me,  and  that  it  was  all  right.  I  have  said  that 
before  having  an  explanation  with  Jenny,  I  wanted  to 
have  a  home  to  offer  her.  I  wanted  it  to  be  a  good 
home, — one  worthy  of  her  acceptance.  Some  time 
last  May,  I  heard  that  a  man,  who  had  a  small,  but 
well-arranged  stock-farm  in  one  of  the  lower  counties, 
less  than  a  hundred  miles  from  here,  desired  to  sell 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  231 

out.  He  had  come  to  tlie  West  from  Kentucky,  and 
was  forced  by  domestic  engagements  to  return.  The 
business  suited  me ;  and  the  property,  I  was  told, 
could  be  bought  at  low  figures.  I  knew  the  place 
and  liked  it.  A  narrow  valley — commencing  with  a 
mountain  gorge — cliffs  almost  meeting  overhead — 
widening  as  it  gradually  descends, — it  opens  to  the 
south-west  upon  a  level  jDlateau  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
reach  ; — a  large  stream  runs  through  the  centre  of  the 
valley,  fed  by  hundreds  of  springs  from  the  moun- 
tains ; — and  in  a  clump  of  trees  upon  its  bank,  just 
before  it  enters  the  plain,  stands  the  house,  commo- 
dious and  well-constructed.  Having  some  money  on 
hand,  I  set  out  at  once,  and  found,  upon  arrival  at 
the  place,  no  diflQculty  in  making  the  trade.  Eepairs, 
however,  and  other  preliminary  business  kept  me 
upon  the  farm  several  weeks.  I  was  about  prepared 
for  my  return  to  this  city,  when  a  small  party  of  ma- 
rauding Indians  stole  and  carried  off  some  of  my 
horses.  I  pursued  them  with  three  or  four  men,  and 
overtook  them  the  second  day  out.  They  showed 
fight  at  first,  but  were  soon  scattered,  and  the  prop- 
erty recovered.  In  the  skirmish,  however,  I  received 
quite  a  severe  flesh  wound.  The  fever,  into  which  it 
threw  me,  was  much  aggravated  by  the  journey  back. 
It  Avas  two  or  three  weeks  before  I  was  able  to  bear 
the  fatigue  of  a  lengthy  trip.  When  I  reached  this 
city,  I  found  Paul  Winnot  in  jail;  and  Jenny  the  wife 
of  Brown.  It  was  awful,"  said  he,  grinding  his  teeth, 
"  but  I  bore  it.     There  is  something  about  that  mar- 


232  UXDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

riage  that  I  don't  understand.  It  took  place  a  few 
days  after  the  arrest  of  Winnot.  I  suppose  the  des- 
titute and  friendless  condition,  in  which  Jenny  was 
left,  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it.  But  there  was 
somethino;  else  at  tlie  bottom.  She  was  made  to  turn 
against  me — turn  away  from  me  by  some  tale.  And 
that  story  came  from  the  Browns.  I  am  sure  of  it. 
The  action  of  Bill  Brown  towards  me  makes  it  plain. 
He  shuns  me;  and  when  we  happen  together,  he  is 
afraid  of  me.  He  fears  a  difficulty.  He  knows  I  sus- 
pect him ;  and  that  if  we  run  together,  both  of  us 
will  never  leave  the  ground  alive.  And  I  know," 
continued  Melton  in  the  deep,  concentrated  tones  of 
intense  passion,  while  the  fiery  and  deadly  gleam,  to 
which  allusion  has  heretofore  been  made,  again  came 
into  his  eves. — "  and  I  know  that  the  one,  who  mav 
leave,  will  never  be  Bill  Brown.  I  told  you,  before 
you  had  your  difficulty  with  him,  that  he  would  not 
dare  fight  me ;  and  now  you  know  the  reason." 

Guy,  seeing  how  strongly  Melton  was  stirred  up  by 
his  recital,  although  thinking  that  he  had  jumped 
rather  hastily  to  some  of  his  conclusions,  thought  it 
best  to  make  no  reply.  He  simply  asked  if  he  had 
seen  or  spoken  to  Jenny  since  her  marriage. 

"No,"  said  Melton,  "she  lives  at  Gold  Hill;  and 
although  she  comes  here  now  and  then  to  visit  her 
father,  I  have  never  met  her." 


UNDER   THE   MAGXOLIA.  233 


CHAPTEK  XII. 


Oh  no  ! — you're  not  the  first  man  who  has  driven  the  centre  when  the  bow  was 
drawn  at  a  venture — not  the  first  man  who  has  made  his  fortune  by  a  single,  lucky 
unexpected  hit. 

The  Merchant. 


The  day  of  trial  arrived.  The  court-lionse  was 
filled  to  overflowing.  Both  sides  announced  them- 
selves ready.  After  much  difiiculty  a  jury  was  se- 
cured. Guy  in  this  important  work  was  materially 
assisted  by  Melton,  who  had  placed  himself  just 
behind  him.  The  first  witnesses  examined  were  four 
men,  headed  by  one  William  Smith,  whose  testimony 
showed  that  they  were  cutting  wheat  for  Eufus 
"Wolfe,  the  deceased,  on  the  12th  day  of  the  preceding 
June — the  day  of  the  killing.  They  were  at  work 
upon  the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  field  not  far  from  a  piece 
of  woods,  some  four  or  five  acres  in  extent,  through 
about  the  centre  of  which  ran  the  road  between  the 
houses  of  deceased  and  the  prisoner.  From  the  point 
occupied  by  them  the  road  for  some  distance  on  each 
side  of  this  piece  of  woods,  as  well  as  the  two  houses, 
could  be  plainly  seen.     On  the  day  referred  to,  rather 

late  in  the  afternoon,  they  saw  deceased  and  prisoner 
10* 


23i  UXDER   THE   MAGXOLIA. 

upon  this  road,  at  tlie  same  moment,  approacliing  the 
woods  from  the  direction  of  their  respective  homes — 
the  latter  had  a  gun  on  his  shoulder.  They  heard  a 
rifle-shot  in  the  woods  at  or  about  the  time  they  sup- 
posed deceased  and  prisoner  might  have  met  in  the 
midst  of  it.  They  observed  the  latter  soon  afterwards 
issue  from  the  woods,  and  walk  rapidly  back  towards 
his  house.  Suspecting  something  wrong,  as  William 
Smith,  one  of  the  witnesses,  had  heai'd  prisoner  say  a 
few  days  previously,  that  if  deceased  troubled  him 
much  more,  he  would  take  his  life,  they  hastened 
into  the  woods,  and  found  Rufus  "Wolfe  dead  in  the 
road,  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood,  wliich  had  flowed  from 
a  bullet-hole  in  his  breast.  When,  in  a  few  minutes 
afterwards, — for  they  went  in  pursuit  immediately, — 
the  prisoner  was  arrested  by  them  at  his  house,  it 
was  discovered  that  his  rifle  had  been  recently  dis- 
charged, and  ascertained  subsequently  that  the  bullet 
taken  by  the  physician  from  the  body  of  the  deceased 
fitted  it  exactly.  The  cross-examination  elicited; 
first,  that  when  the  party  reached  prisoner's  house  he 
showed  them  a  squirrel,  alleging  he  had  just  killed  it 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  piece  of  woods — the  point 
farthest  from  the  wheat-cutters ;  secondly,  that  foot- 
marks about  the  body  of  deceased  showed  tliere  had 
been  something  of  a  struggle  between  him  and  the 
assassin;  and  thirdly,  that  the  prisoner  had  always 
borne  the  reputation  of  a  good  and  worthy  citizen,  as 
well  as  a  peaceable  man;  and  that  his  threat  against 
deceased  was  made  in  the  heat  of  passion. 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  235 

Dr.  Oldham  stated  that  he  saw  the  body  after  it 
was  conveyed  to  the  house.  The  ball  had  entered 
immediately  below  the  breast-bone  on  the  right  side, 
missing  the  ribs, — and  ranging  upward,  and  slightly 
to  the  left, — had  buried  itself  in  the  heart,  where  he 
found  it. 

Guy  :  "  Doctor,  did  you  find  any  bruises  or  scratches 
on  the  body  ?" 

Doctor  :  "Kone  except  the  hole  made  by  the  rifle- 
ball." 

Guy:  "Did  you  examine  closely?" 

Doctor:  "Yes,  very  closely." 

Guy:  "You  are  satisfied  that  if  there  had  been  a 
scratch  or  bruise,  you  would  have  seen  it?" 

Doctor:  "Perfectly." 

Guy:  "If  you  know  the  previous  reputation  of  the 
prisoner  in  this  neighborhood,  you  will  please  state 
it." 

Doctor:  "He  has  generally  been  regarded  as  an 
honest,  reliable,  and  quiet  man." 

Guy:  "You  can  stand  aside,  Doctor." 

The  State  is  through,  sir,  said  the  District  attorney, 
addressing  the  court.  The  judge  turned  to  Guy,  and 
told  him  to  proceed  with  his  testimony.  The  latter 
stated  that  he  would  introduce  no  witnesses,  but  he 
desired  to  ask  one  or  two  questions  of  Eufus  Wolfe, 
the  brother  of  the  deceased.  Mr.  Wolfe  took  the 
stand. 

Guy:  "What  is  j^our  age,  Mr.  Wolfe?" 

Wolfe:  "I  Avas  twenty  last  March." 


236  UXDEK    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

Guy:  "How  long  did  you  live  witli  yo\ir  deceased 
brother,  Eafus  Wolfe?" 

"Wolfe:  "For  the  three  years  iiornediatelj^  preced- 
ing his  death.  I  am  still  at  the  house  attending  to 
business  for  his  widow." 

Guy:  "  State  whether  or  not  your  brother  was  paid 
any  money  on  the  day  of  the  killing — if  so,  how  much 
■ — and  what  became  of  it." 

Wolfe:  "He  was  paid  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars that  evening,  by  John  Smith, — it  was  the  last 
payment  on  a  piece  of  land  that  Smith  had  bought  of 
him.  When  his  desk  was  examined  several  hundred 
dollars  were  found  in  one  of  the  secret  drawers,  and  it 
was  supposed,  that  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
paid  by  Smith  was  part  of  it.  The  amount  found, 
however,  was  somewhat  smaller,  than  was  expected." 

Guv:  "You  don't  know  then  whether  or  not  he  bad 
the  two  hundred  and  fiftj^  dollars  upon  his  person, 
when  he  was  killed?" 

Wolfe:  "No, — that  is  a  matter  I  have  never 
thought  of — I  supposed,  of  course,  he  put  the  monev 
in  his  desk — he  mioht,  though,  have  had  it  with 
him." 

Guy:  "Were  you  present  when  the  money  was 
paid  by  Smith?" 

Wolfe  :  "  Yes, — but  I  went  out  of  the  room  imme- 
diately after  it  was  done,  and  did  not  return." 

Guy :  "  State  whether  or  not  Smith  was  with  your 
brother,  when  he  left  the  house." 

Wolfe:  "I  think  so;  althouoh  I  am  not  sure: — if 


UNDER    THE    MAGNOLIA.  237 

he  was,  tliey  must  Lave- separated  near  the  door,  for 
1  saw  my  brother  later  walking  down  the  road  alone." 

Guy  :   "  Who  is  this  John  Smith  ?" 

Wolfe :  "I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  you.  He 
has  been  a  miner,  but  is  now  a  small  farmer  about 
twenty  miles  from  here,  and  is  the  brother  of  the 
Avitness,  William  Smith.  He  is  looked  upon  as  being 
a  o'ood  and  clever  man." 

Guy:  "State,  if  you  know,  what  was  the  reputa- 
tion of  prisoner  in  this  vicinity  before  the  killing." 

Wolfe:  "  He  stood  well  I  believe  with  everybody 
except  my  brother,  who,  for  some  reason,  did  not 
like  him." 

Guy :  "  I  am  through  with  you,  Mr.  Wolfe." 
After  a  pause,  he  said:  "If  the  court  please  I  shall 
rest  the  defence  in  this  case  upon  the  testimonj^  now 
before  it — which  is  really  the  testimony  of  the  state." 

The  leading  counsel  for  the  prosecution  commenced 
the  argument.  The  facts  in  the  case, — especially 
those-  given  in  the  evidence  of  the  wheat-cutters, — 
the  going  into  the  woods  of  the  prisoner  and  the  de- 
ceased at  the  same  time ;  the  former  with  his  gun ; 
the  shot;  the  dead  man;  the  hurrying  away  of  the 
prisoner;  the  recently  discharged  rifle;  the  ball  fit- 
ting it ;  the  previous  threat,  et  csetera  ;  were  all  laid 
before  the  jury  so  clearly  and  commented  upon  so  in- 
geniously, that  it  seemed  but  one  conclusion  in  the 
matter  could  possibly  be  reached,  and  that  was, — to 
adopt  the  language  of  the  counsel, — "Rufus  Wolfe 
was  killed  with  a  ball!fired  from  a  rifle-gun  in  the  hands 


238  UXDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

of,  and  by,  Paul  Winnot."  When  he  concluded, 
the  case,  to  the  bystanders,  at  least,  appeared  a  des- 
perate one  for  the  prisoner.  There  was  not  a  man  of 
them,  who  did  not  have  his  former  convictions  as  to 
his  guilt  strengthened.  They  could  see  no  ground 
upon  which  his  attorney  could  rear  even  the  most 
shadowy  structure  of  defence. 

Guy  opened  his  speech,  slowly  and  deliberately, 
upon  the  nature  and  eiFects  of  circumstantial  evidence. 
"While  acknowledging  its  general  strength  and  reHa- 
bility,  he  said,  it  should  be  watched  and  weighed  with 
the  greatest  caution :  and  even  then,  he  urged,  such 
was  the  imperfection  and  fallibility  of  human  judg- 
ment, the  greatest  wrong  was  not  unlikely  to  be  done 
and  suffered  under  its  guidance.  He  cited  many  in- 
stances, given  in  the  law  books,  in  which  the  chain 
of  circumstances,  attaching  guilt  to  an  individual 
afterwards  ascertained  to  be  perfectly  innocent,  seemed 
complete — not  a  link  wanting.     He  then  said  : 

"It  is  proclaimed  that  circumstances  cannot  lie. 
No ;  they  cannot  lie ;  but,  as  far  as  the  eiiect  is  con- 
cerned, they  had  just  as  well  do  so,  as  be  misunder- 
stood, which  unfortunately  often  happens,  inadver- 
tently through  ignorance,  and  wilfully  through 
prejudice.  The  evidence,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  in 
this  case,  is  purely  circumstantial.  Let  us  see  now 
whether  it  is  strong  enough  to  exclude  every  other 
reasonable  hj^pothesis,  except  that  based  upon  the  idea 
of  the  prisoner's  guilt.  As  his  honor  will  tell  you, 
unless  that  is  done,  jou  are  bound  to  render  a  verdict 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  239 

of  acquittal.  Granted,  then,  that,  with  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder,  the  prisoner  was  seen  to  enter  the  piece  of 
woods,  on  the  side  next  to  his  home,  at  the  time  the 
deceased  was  observed  to  enter  it  on  the  other  ; — that, 
in  a  few  minutes,  a  shot  was  heard  about  the  spot 
where  it  was  supposed  they  had  met,  and  soon  after- 
wards the  prisoner  was  seen  hurrying  from  the  woods 
in  the  direction  of  his  house ; — granted  that  Rufus 
Wolfe  was  found  dead  at  the  place  indicated  bj  the 
report  of  the  gun,  or  some  such  weapon — his  heart 
pierced  by  a  ball  exactly  fitting  the  prisoner's  rifle^ 
which  was  found  to  have  been  recently  discharged ; — 
granted,  too,  that  the  prisoner,  in  a  sudden  ebullition 
of  passion,  because  of  some  supposed  wrong  inflicted 
upon  him  by  deceased,  had  threatened  to  take  his  life  ; 
— I  would  ask,  with  the  squirrel  just  killed  at  the 
house,  and  the  fact,  as  stated  by  the  prisoner  to  the 
witnesses,  that  he  had  shot  it  at  the  point  of  the  woods 
most  distant  from  them, — too  far  for  the  report  of  his 
rifle  to  have  been  marked,  unless  they  had  been  listen- 
ing especially  for  it, — I  would  ask,  I  say,  if  a  reason- 
able doubt,  as  to  the  perpetration  of  the  deed  by  him, 
is  not  created?  If  the  answer  should  be,  that,  the 
facts,  tending  to  fasten  the  crime  upon  the  prisoner^ 
are  too  strong  and  well  connected,  to  be  weakened  by 
these  circumstances  ;  then  I  would  ask,  if  such  reason- 
able doubt  is  not  created  by  them,  when  considered  in 
connection  with  the  evidence  given  by  all,  of  the 
prisoner's  uniformly  good  and  peaceable  previous 
character  ? 


240  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

"And  just  here  you  will  please  pardon  a  few  remarks 
bj  way  of  illustration.  I  once  knew  in  Alabama  a 
man  of  large  wealth,  w^ho,  by  unfortunate  speculation, 
and  a  financial  crisis,  lost  the  whole  of  his  property, 
with  the  exception  of  his  homestead  and  a  few  acres 
around  it.  This  homestead  was  morteasfed ;  and  it 
w^as  mortgaged  to  a  hard  man;  who, — hopiug,  through 
the  stringency  in  the  money  market,  and  the  pressure 
upon  the  mortgagor,  to  obtain  the  valuable  property 
for  the  inconsiderable  sum  due  upon  it, — foreclosed. 
The  unfortunate  debtor,  after  struggling  desperately 
to  raisg  the  necessary  funds,  without  success,  had  given 
up  in  despair,  and  expected,  in  a  few  days,  to  see  his 
sick  and  dying  wife  turned  into  the  street,  when  one 
came  forward,  paid  the  debt,  saved  the  23roperty,  glad- 
dened the  last  hours  upon  earth  of  a  helpless  woman, 
w^hile  he  enabled  the  husband  by  this,  and  other  assist- 
ance, once  more  to  rise  in  business ;  and  he  did  these 
things  voluntarily,  without  asking  security  for  his  ad- 
vances, and  perhaps  even  without  expecting  a  return. 
Gentlemen  of  the  jurj-,  the  generous,  unselfish  and 
noble  man,  whom  I  have  described, — and  I  speak 
simply  what  I  know^  to  be  true, — was  the,  prisoner, 
whom  you  are  now  trying  for  his  life  upon  the  charge 
of  murder,  and  the  one  whom  he  saved  from  bank- 
ruptcy was  my  father. 

"But  should  you  sav  that  the  facts  hitherto  uro-ed 
in  defence,  joined  with  previous  good  character,  on 
the  part  of  the  prisoner,  insufficient  to  raise  the  rea- 
sonable doubt  contended  for, — then  I  wdll  call  your 


UXDER  THE   MAGXOLIA.  24:1 

attention  to  some  facts,  tliat  will  not  indeed  create  tliis 
doubt ; — no,  they  will  create  no  doubt  whatever  about 
it, — but  an  absolute  certainty  that  Paul  Winnot  did  not 
perpetrate  the  foul  deed.  It  is  in  evidence  that  there 
were  signs  of  a  struggle  about  the  body  of  the  de- 
ceased,— that  the  ball  entered  just  below  the  breast- 
bone, and  ranging  upward,  pierced  his  heart, — that 
there  Avas  no  other  mark  or  bruise  upon  his  person. 
In  my  hand  here,"  said  he,  receiving  a  rifle  from  the 
sherifi*  "is  the  gun,  by  which  the  shooting  is  alleged 
to  have  been  done.  You  can  see  for  yourselves,  that 
it  is  one  of  those  old-fashioned  rifles  full  five  feet  in 
length.  Look  at  it  well ; — and  you  A\dll  at  once  per- 
ceive that  there  is  no  possible  position,  in  which  a 
man  could  be  placed,  except  upon  his  hack,  that  a  ball 
from  this  rifle,  in  the  hands  of  one  confrontino-  him, 
could  enter  below  the  breast- bone,  and  ramjiny  u^j- 
icard^  lodye  in  the- heart.  If  Winnot  shot  Wolfe  with 
this  rifle,  the  latter  either  laid  down,  before  he  received 
the  death -wound,  or  was  knocked  down.  He  certainlv 
was  not  knocked  down, — for  there  was  not  a  bruise 
or  scratch  anywhere  upon  his  body,  showing  that  he 
had  received  a  blow; — and  I  will  leave  it  for  you,  as 
sensible  men,  to  say  whether  or  not  he  complacently 
and  politely,  placed  himself  at  full  length  upon  the 
ground,  in  order  that  \Yinnot  might  stand  at  his  feet, 
and  shoot  him  through  the  heart. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury :  tlie  ball  that  killed  Eufus 
Wolfe  was  fired  from  a  pistol,  and  it  was  fired  while 
he  was  engaged  in  a  struggle  with  the  assassin.     The 


242  UNDEE   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

foot-marks  around  the  body,  and  tlie  direction  of  the 
ball  after  entering  it,  establish  the  correctness  of  this 
idea  beyond  all  question  ; — and  consequently  I  have 
no  hesitation  in  assertins: — althouo-h  I  failed  to  o-et 
conclusive  evidence  upon  this  point, — that  he  was 
killed  for  the  money  he  had  upon  liis  person,  b}^  some 
one,  who  knew  it  was  there.  And,  in  conclusion," 
exclaimed  Guy,  with  a  not  unpardonable  piece  of  clap- 
trap, as  he  raised  his  voice  until  its  clear  and  ring- 
ing tones  "filled  every  part  of  the  large  and  densely 
crowded  room,  "if  this  court,  contrary  to  my  belief 
and  expectation,  should  allow  the  State,  backed  by 
wealth  and  power,  in  the  face  of  all  justice  and  right, 
to  crush,  this  unfortunate  and  friendless  old  man,  I 
shall  regard  it  as  a  court  organized,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, simply  to  convict, — and  this  hall,  which, 
ought  to  be  the  refuge  of  the  innocent,  when  poor  and 
weak,  not  less  than  when  rich,  and  strong,  as — at  least 
for  the  former  class — but  little  more  than  a  vestibule 
to  the  penitentiary  and  a  trap-door  to  the  gibbet." 

The  District  attorney  closed  the  argument  for  the 
state.  After  laying  the  facts  before  the  jury,  as  was 
done  in  the  opening  speech  of  his  associate,  proving, 
as  he  urged,  that  the  prisoner,  and  no  one  else,  could 
have  done  the  killing,  he  took  up  those,  upon  which. 
Guy  had  founded  bis  defence.  In  commenting  on 
them,  he  had  the  manliness  to  say,  that  his  mind  had 
never  been  especially  directed  to  them  before, — that 
he  desired  the  jury  to  weigh  them  well  in  considering 
their  verdict, — and  that  while  he  did  not  want  the 


UNDER   THE   MAGXOLIA.  243 

guilty  to  escape,  he  was  as  far  as  the  counsel  on  the 
other  side,  or  the  jury,  or  any  oth.er  man,  from  de- 
siring the  punishment  of  an  innocent  person.  The 
charge  of  the  judge  was  short,  but  apparentlj^  satis- 
factory all  round,  as  no  objection  Avas  made  to  it,  and 
no  additional  charge  asked.  The  jury  was  out  but  a 
few  minutes:  they  returned  with  a  verdict  of  "not 
guilty."  And  so  happily  and  successfully  ended  Guy 
Brentworth's  first  assay  at  the  bar. 


244  UXDEK   THE    MAGXOLIA. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 


So  I  to  her;  and  so  she  yields  to  me: 
For  I  am  rough,  and  W(jo  not  like  a  balie. 
And  to  couelnde — we  'greed  so  well  together, 
That  upon  Sunday  is  the  wedding-day. 

Shakspeare. 


Guy  opened  a  law  office  in  Yirginia  City.  Pie  de- 
termined to  make  tliat  place  his  home,  and  so  wrote 
to  his  uncle.  The  bread  he  had  cast  upon  the  w^aters 
returned  to  him  before  many  days  had  passed,  and 
returned  too,  vastly  and  unexpectedly  enlarged.  Busi- 
ness in  his  profession  flowed  to  him  almost  as  easily 
and  naturally  as  rivers  do  to  the  sea.  To  him  it 
seemed  almost  like  a  work  of  magic ;  and  yet  there 
was  nothing  whatever  remarkable  about  his  success. 
It  was  onl}^  such  as  had  frequently  followed  just  such 
single-minded  and  single-hearted  exertions  on  the  part 
of  other  men, — and  especially  other  men  of  his  pecu- 
liar profession.  A  single  volunteer-speech  has  made 
many  a  young  lawyer  famous,  and  been  tlie  means  of 
loading  him  with  business,  and  filling  his  purse  with 
guineas. 

Paul  Winnot,  who  was  not  only  once  more  a  free 


UNDER    THE    MAG^OLIA.  245 

mail,  but  a  Happy  man, — for  those,  who,  through  ig- 
norance and  prejudice,  had  so  relentlessly  persecuted 
him,  were  now  emulous  in  assisting  and  befriending 
him, — had  written  to  his  old  friend,  Hubert  Brent- 
worth,  a  full  account  of  the  trial,  and  its  results.  It 
may  readily  be  imagined  that  Guj^,  in  the  letter,  ob- 
tained all  the  praise  to  which  he  was  entitled,  and 
perhaps  a  few  grains  more  than  a  strictly  conscien- 
tious outside  man  would  have  esteemed  just  and  hon- 
est AveJoht. 

Guy  w^as  sitting  in  his  office  one  morning,  a  few 
days  after  the  trial,  wdien  Melton  came  in.  The  lat- 
ter had  evidently  paid  scrupulous  attention  to  his 
dress,  and  was  looking  unusually  well. 

"  I  haven't  been  to  see  Wiiinot  since  his  acquittal," 
he  observed  upon  his  entrance, — "I  am  going  out  to- 
day." 

"Going  to  see  Winnot! " — said  Guy,  looking  him  all 
over; — "I  rather  think  you  are  going  to  see  Winnot's 
daughter." 

"Yes," — answered  Melton, — "I  intend  to  have  the 
explanation  now  that  I  ought  to  have  had  some  time 
ago.  I  want  to  take  her  down  to  the  ranche  next 
week." 

"  You  speak  pretty  confidently,"  remarked  Guy, — 
"  but  you  had  better  look  out.  There  is  no  calcula- 
ting upon  the  action  of  a  woman,  jow  know." 

"There  is  npon  the  action  of  snch  a  woman  as 
Jenny  Winnot,"  replied  Melton; — "1  can't  call  her 
by  that  other  name." 


"246  UXDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

"  Well,  it  seems  you  were  unable  to  do  so  with 
certainty  even  there,  or,  she  never  would  have  borne 
that  other  name,  which  you  so  much  dislike/' 

"Certain  figures  that  ought  to  have  been  considered 
in  that  calculation,"  answered  Melton, — "the  arrest  of 
Winnot,  for  instance,  and  the  destitution  and  friend- 
lessness  of  Jenny  afterwards, — were  unavoidably  left 
out.  Hence  the  failure.  It  will  be  all  right  now. 
Mind  what  I  tell  you — Jenny  will  go  with  me  down 
the  country  next  week,  as  Mrs.  Philip  Melton." 

"  I  hope  so,"  responded  Guy. 

Melton  left.  Three  hours  later  he  might  have  been 
seen  seated  by  the  fire, — for  the  day  was  cold, — in  Paul' 
Winnot's  kitchen.  The  old  man  was  not  at  home ; 
and  Jenny  being  engaged  upon  some  household  du- 
ties, and  the  kitchen,  where  she  was  employed,  being 
the  most  comfortable  part  of  the  house  at  the  time, 
he  had  followed  her  to  it.  Melton  observed  how  well 
arranged  and  neat  everything  was  around  him, — the 
floor,  tables,  chairs  and  shelves, — and  that  the  few 
articles  of  tin-ware  upon  the  board  above  the  fire- 
place, shone  like  burnished  silver.  Jenny  was  stand- 
ing at  a  table  ironing  a  piece  of  lace ;  and  her  two 
black  eyes  now  and  then  brightly  glanced  from  it  to 
him,  as  he  spoke,  or  she  replied.  There  is  but  little 
work  that  some  ladies  can  do  about  a  house,  which 
shows  them  off  to  such  advantage,  as  that  in  which 
Jenny  was  engaged.  If  they  have  grace  of  person 
and  of  action, — both  are  here  displayed  in  their  ut- 
most perfection.     At  any  rate,  so  thought  Phil.  Mel- 


UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA.  247 

ton,  as  lie  looked  at  the  trim  figure  of  Jenny,  who 
leaning  easily  over  the  table,  made  the  iron  glide 
swiftly  and  noiselessly,  to  and  fro,  over  the  delicate 
and  beautiful  feminine  stuff  spread  out  before  her. 

"Jenny!" — abruptly  spoke  he  at  length,  as  she 
bent  over  her  work, — "  did  you  know  when  you  and 
I  were  last  together  in  this  room,  that  I  loved  you, 
and  that  I  had  loved  you  almost  from  the  moment 
of  our  first  meeting  ?  No  womanly  hesitation  or  eva- 
sions now,  Jenny! — speak  right  out!" 

Her  back  was  to  him ;  and  she  was  stooping  over 
the  table.  She  did  not  look  up,  as  she  replied  :  "  no, 
Phil, — I  did  not.  How  should  I? — You  never  told 
me." 

"Well, — I  thought  you  knew  all  about  it.  Of 
course  then  you  didn't  know  that,  at  that  very  time,  I 
was  preparing  to  go  down  the  country,  to  fix  up 
a  home,  which  I  hoped  you  might  be  induced  to 
accept." 

"No,  I  knew  nothing  of  that.  You  were  gone  a 
long  time.  I  heard  nothing  from  you  for  nearly  two 
months.  I  even  thought  you  had  gone  off  to  stay." 
"For  two  months!"  said  Melton; — "then  you  did 
hear  something  of  me,  during  my  absence.  What 
was  it  ?  " 

"Yes, — after  the  great  trouble  came  upon  us, — and 
father  was  taken  to  prison, — leaving  me  all  alone  here, 
and  miserable, — I  heard  that  in  a  fight  with  some 
Indians  you  had  been  killed." 

"I  thought  so; — and  the  Browns  told  you?" 


248  UNDER   THE    MAGNOLIA. 

"No,"  answered  Jemij  qiiickly — "not  the  Browns. 
AYilliam  Brown  did,  but  not  Fred.  I  will  explain  it 
all  to  you.  Fred,  had  talked  to  me  of  marriage  before 
you  went  away.  I,  however,  gave  him  no  encourage- 
ment. A  few  days  after  father's  arrest,  he  and  Wil- 
liam called  at  the  house  here.  William  told  me  he 
had  just  seen  one  of  the  men,  who  were  with  you, 
when  you  were  wounded,  and  that  joii  Avere  certainly 
dead.  I  looked  at  Fred.,  who  said  you  had  been  badly 
hurt, — that  was  all  he  had  heard, — he  had  not  seen 
the  man,  avIio  had  given  the  information  to  his 
brother.  Oh !  those  miserable — miserable  days  ! — and 
those  still  more  miserable  and  fearful  nights !  You 
know  there  are  no  persons,  except  the  Wolfes,  living 
within  two  or  three  miles  of  this  place.  Not  a  soul 
came  near  me.  I  believed  I  should  q;o  mad.  I  knew 
I  liked  Fred. ;  but  I  never  thought  of  love, — in  my 
distraction  I  could  not  think  of  but  one  thing,  and 
that  was  the  necessity  of  getting  away  from  this  hor- 
rible place.  And  when  Fred,  asked  me  again  to  marry 
him,  which  he  did  at  this  visit,  I  consented."  After 
a  pause,  during  which  she  regained  her  composure, 
she  said:  "For  the  few  weeks  that  I  was  his  wife,  he 
was  most  attentive  and  kind  to  me :  and  he  would 
have  assisted  father  with  all  the  money  he  could  have 
raised,  had  he  lived.  No,  Fred,  did  not  tell  me  you 
were  dead.     You  must  not  do  him  that  injustice." 

"I  knew  you  had  heard  something  about  me, — and 
I  was  sure  you  had  heard  it  from  the  Browns.  I  have 
seen  the  man,  who  told  Bill  Brown  I  was  wounded. 


UXDEE   THE   MAGNOLIA.  24:9 

and  he  says  lie  informed  liim,  at  the  same  time,  that 
the  wound  was  not  at  all  dangerous,  and  that  I  would 
be  up  and  about  in  a  few  days.  So  that  when  Bill 
spoke  to  you  on  the  subject,  he  knew  he  was  telling 
a  falsehood,  and  I  fear  Fred.  Brown  knew  it  too. 
Well, — it  can't  be  helped  now.     Let  it  pass,  and  be 

forgotten .     But  that  home,  Jenny  ! — it's  beautiful 

— mountains — woods — streams — prairies — fine  cattle 
and  horses — cosy  house  in  a  cluster  of  splendid  old 
trees  near  the  water's  edge, — it  will  just  suit  you  !  A 
loving  heart,  of  which  you  have  long  been  the  mis- 
tress, wishes  to  make  you  the  mistress  of  this  home, 
— will  you  come  ?  "  He  arose,  and  stood  looking  at 
her  eagerly,  with  his  hand  extended. 

"I  will  come,  Phil.,"  replied  Jenny,  almost  in  a 
whisper,  turning  her  face  from  him,  and  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"Xext  week? — I  am  going  to  have  your  father 
break  up  here,  where  he  and  you  have  had  so  much 
trouble,  and  go  with  me." 

"Yes,"  answered  Jenny,  leaving  the  window,  and 
placing  her  hand  in  his,  which  he  still  held  out  to 
her, — "next  week  if  you  wish." 

That  autumn  saw  the  wanderer,  Phil.  Melton,  set- 
tled— and  happily  settled  for  life, — and  the  sorrows 
of  the  frank  and  true-hearted  Jenny  Winnot  and  her 
good  old  father  at  an  end. 


250  UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 


CHAPTEE  XIY. 


To  satisfy  a  father's  vow,  she  feared  not  death, 
Though,  like  a  monster,  grim  and  fierce, 
In  cavern  black,  he  glared  at  her. 

The  Maid  of  Devox. 


Under  the  magnolia  once  more.  It  was  a  cloudless 
night  of  the  same  autumn,  though  later  in  the  season, 
that  had  witnessed  the  entrance  of  Guj  into  Virginia 
Citj.  The  full-orbed  moon,  high  in  the  eastern  heav- 
ens, was  flooding  every  object  about  Fairslope  with 
pearly  splendor.  The  leaves,  which  had  not  yet  lost 
their  bright  green  tints,  were  rustling  in  the  steady 
night-breeze  from  the  Gulf,  with  that  indescribable 
sound  that  seems  to  herald  the  approach  of  winter. 
Far  away — rising  and  falling — now  full  and  distinct, 
then  subsiding  into  something  like  the  faintest  echo, 
— could  be  heard  the  chorus  of  a  negro  melody — notes 
so  deliciously  musical  when  mellowed  by  distance, — 
as  they  were  sung  with  unconscious  iteration  by  some 
freedman,  who  was  winding  his  way  homeward  from 
the  field. 

A  storm  had  recently  passed  over  Fairslope,  by 
which  some  damage  had  been  done  to  the  houses  and 


UXDER   THE    MAGXOLIA.  251 

grounds.  A  few  trees  had  been  uprooted,  that  had 
not  yet  been  removed.  They  could  be  seen  lying 
along  the  slope  next  to  the  Gulf.  The  tower  had  been 
stripped  of  part  of  its  metallic  roofing ;  and  the  masts 
and  rio^Q^ino^  of  the  old  sailor's  favorite  weather-vane 
had  been  twisted  and  broken.  Workmen  had  been 
brought  from  Pensacola  to  make  the  necessary  re- 
pairs. The  rope  ladder  used  by  them  in  scaling  the 
tower,  and  the  shorter  one,  reaching  from  its  summit 
into  the  vane,  could  be  plainly  seen  in  the  bright 
moonlight. 

Charles  Munson  and  Hubert  Brent  worth,  as  they 
sat  on  the  bench  under  the  tree,  were  looking  toward 
the  house  across  the  way,  and  were  talking  of  Grace. 
The  young  girl  had  taken  the  departure  of  Guy,  under 
the  iron-decree  of  her  father,  and  his  subsequent  self- 
banishment  to  the  wilds  of  the  West,  very  quietly. 
She  bore  it  indeed  too  uncomplainingly  ; — that  which 
allayed  apprehension  in  the  beginning,  ought  to  have 
awakened  it.  A  shade  less  of  color,  of  brightness,  of 
elasticity,  was  discernible  in  cheek  and  eye  and  step — 
that  was  all !  But  as  months  wore  on,  her  fair  young 
face  grew  thin  and  pale — the  change  adding  to  the 
delicacy  and  transparency  of  its  beauty, — while  the 
expression  became  so  elevated  and  refined,  in  its  gen- 
tleness and  purity,  under  the  influence  of  suffering  and 
resignation,  that  it  appeared  almost  seraphic.  .  Her 
strength,  too,  gradually  failed,  until  she  manifested  a 
listlessness, — a  weariness, — succeeding  the  slightest 
exertion,  that  aroused  the  most  painful  fears  on  the 


252  UXDER   THE    MAGXOLIA. 

part  of  her  devoted  old  father.  He  took  her  and 
Mary  on  a  business  trip  with  him  to  Havana  and 
Mobile, — followed  by  an  extended  tour  through  the 
larger  cities  of  the  South.  The  last  summer  had  been 
passed  by  them  in  the  mountains  of  Virginia.  They 
had  but  lately  returned  to  Fairslope ; — and  Grace  was 
now  really  ill. 

Hubert  Brent  worth  had  never  spoken  of  Guy  to 
the  old  sailor,  since  the  latter's  impatient  and  denun- 
ciatory exclamation  to  him,  upon  the  subject  of  the 
proposed  marriage,  heretofore  recorded.  As  they  sat 
there,  looking  at  the  lights  flashing  from  the  windows 
of  his  mansion — in  one  room  of  which  laj^  Grace — 
Charles  Munson,  under  the  overwhelming  influence  of 
his  apprehensions  with  regard  to  her,  was  desirous  of 
directing  the  conversation  in  such  a  channel  as  would 
compel  Hubert  Brentworth  to  allude  to  his  nephew 
and  his  prospects.  While  thinking,  in  a  pause  of  the 
conversation,  how  this  could  most  easily  and  naturally 
be  done,  he  was  startled  by  hearing  his  companion 
exclaim : 

"My  God,  what  is  that?"  and  looking  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated  by  the  outstretched  arm  and  quivering 
finger,  he  saw  rising  from  the  roof  of  his  house,  some- 
thing so  white  and  airy,  that,  to  his  astonished  eyes, 
it  seemed  at  first  to  be  nothino;  more  than  a  wreath 
of  mist  or  vapor.  The  shadowy  appearance  having 
evidently  emerged  from  the  trap-door,  stood  for  a 
moment  motionless  upon  the  balustraded  platform  on 
the  crest  of  the  roof, — it  then  glided  along  this,  passed 


UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA.  253 

swiftly  over  the  steps  of  the  dome,  up  the  ladder 
swinging  from  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  immediately 
afterward  was  seen  to  raise  itself  into  the  ship.  The 
whole  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  seconds ;  and  be- 
fore either  of  the  astounded  spectators  thought  of 
moving  or  speaking,  the  object  upon  which  their  eyes 
were  fastened,  commenced  its  ]'apid  descent.  The  old 
sailor  now  hastened  over  to  his  house,  and  meeting 
Mary  in  the  hall,  asked  for  Grace. 

"She  is  in  her  room  asleep,"  answered  Marj^  alarmed 
at  his  manner. 

"Go  and  see,"  ejaculated  he, — and  seizing  a  lamp, 
he  hurried  up  the  stairway,  followed  closely  by  Hubert 
Brentworth.  They  had  nearly  reached  the  foot  of  the 
steps  leading  to  the  trap-door,  when  they  perceived  a 
mass  of  white  draperj^  coming  down.  Brentworth, 
seeing  it  was  Grace,  pressed  the  father's  arm,  and  whis- 
pering him  to  be  quiet,  drew  him  slightly  to  one  side, 
that  she  might  pass  without  interruption.  She  moved 
with  a  noiseless  step, — her  eyes  being  wide  open,  and 
apparently  looking  directly  and  intently  ahead.  When 
the  old  sailor,  following  her  receding  figure,  entered 
her  room,  she  was  lying  in  bed  sleeping  as  easily  and 
placidly  as  an  infant. 

Hubert    Brentworth    remained    in    the    hall.     He 

seated  himself  at  a  table,  and  drawing  a  lamp  to  him, 

began  to  look  over  a  letter,  which  he  had  taken  from 

his  pocket.     He  expressed  no  surprise  to  Charles  Mun- 

son,  upon  his  return  from  Grace's  chamber,  at  her 

remarkable  and  dangerous  feat  of  somnambulism, — 
but  simply  said : 


2o4:  UXDER    THE    MAGXOLIA. 

"You  will  recollect,  Charlie,  that  about  eighteen 
months  ago,  in  this  hall,  you  told  me  that  Guy  should 
not  have  Grace — that  you  would  see  her  in  Jericho 
first.  To-night,"  continued  he  slowly,  almost  solemn- 
ly, ^^you  have  seen  her  there! — now  read  that,"  and  he 
placed  in  Charles  Munson's  hands  the  open  letter, 
which  was  the  one  that  Winnot  had  written  him  about 
the  trial  in  Virginia  City.  There  was  a  moisture 
about  the  old  sailor's  ej^e,  when  he  received  it,  whicK 
was  formed  into  a  tear  that  rolled  down  his  cheek  as 
he  read  it.  He  folded  it  up  and  handed  it  back,  as 
Hubert  Brentworth  rose  from  the  chair. 

"Hubert,"  said  he,  "write  to  Guy,  and  tell  him 
that  Grace — that  all  of  us  want  to  see  him.  Good 
night ! " 


UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA.  255 


CHAPTEK  XY. 


Tlie  treasni-es  of  the  deep  are  not  so  precious 
As  are  the  concealed  comforts  of  a  man 
Locked  np  in  woman's  love.     I  scent  the  air 
Of  Idessings,  when  I  come  but  near  the  house. 
Wliat  a  delicious  breath  marriage  sends  forth — 
The  violet  bed's  not  sweeter. 

MiDDLETON 


Under  the  magnolia  for  the  last  time !  Guy  was 
there  ;  and  Grace,  blooming  like  one,  who  had  never 
known  sorrow ;  and  Mary,  Charles  Munson  and  Hu- 
bert Brentworth.  It  was  spring  again — the  spring 
succeeding  Grace's  airy  exploit — near  the  close  of  the 
season.  They  were  all  happy,  and  all  well,  except 
Hubert  Brentworth.  He  had  been  feeble  for  several 
weeks — not  exactly  sick — but  failing.  He  was  half- 
sitting — half-reclining  in  a  large,  easy  chair,  propped 
up  by  pillows.  Guy  and  Grace  had  been  married 
about  three  months. 

"Guy,"  asked  Hubert  Brentworth,  "what  do  you 
think  of  a  wife  now  ?  You  can't  have  forgotten  what 
you  said  to  me,  when  I  first  spoke  to  you  of  marriage 
under  this  very  tree.  How  about  the  Jezebel — eh  ?  " 
queried  the  old  man,  faintly  smiling. 


256  UXDER    THE    MAGNOLIA. 

"Ah!"  replied  Giw,  "I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
talking  about  then.  I  have  learned  many  things  since 
that  time.  What  do  I  think  of  a  wife?"  added  he, 
looking  lip  from  his  chair  into  the  tine  eyes  of  Grace, 
who  was  standing  rather  behind  him,  and  leaning 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"Do  your  best,  Guy, — give  us  your  impressions 
upon  that  important  subject,"  said  Mary  archly,  "in 
your  happiest  vein." 

"What  do  I  think  of  a  wife?"  and  he  was  now 
looking  dreamily  far  away  over  the  waters  of  the  Gulf. 
"Let  me  look  at  woman,  then,  in  the  relation  of  wife, 
disconnected  from  the  others,  which  she  may,  and 
generally  does,  fill  in  this  life.  It  is  a  common  saying 
that  there  is  nothins;  on  earth  so  beautiful  as  the  love 
of  a  mother  for  the  tender  nurselino-  restins;  like  a 
sweet  bad  upon  her  bosom — it  is  so  absorbing — self- 
denying — self-forgetting.  But,  indeed,  in  its  pure 
unselfishness, — and  herein  consists  the  beauty  of  all 
love, — that  of  the  wife  far  transcends  it.  In  the  for- 
mer case  the  woman  receives  what  she  conceives  to  be 
full  compensation  for  all  the  affection,  which  she  so 
lavishly  bestows  upon  her  child — in  the  winning  ways 
and  artless  prattle  of  the  infant-cherub — in  watching 
the  bud  expand  into  the  flower,  under  the  gentle  dews 
of  her  fostering  care,  and  the  genial  sunshine  of  her 
smiling  ministrations,  and  in  the  bright  hopes  of  a 
happy  future  for  her  darling  ever  present  to  her  mind. 
Herein,  I  repeat,  she  feels  herself  amply  repaid  for  all 
her  great  love.     But  how  often  does  the  wife   'love 


UXDER   THE    MAGXOLIA.  257 

fondl}^  on  to  the  close,'  witli  no  return  of  affection,  or, 
at  best,  but  a  faint  and  imperfect  return  to  her  sad- 
dened and  yearning  heart.  Her  love,  Avith  her  hand, 
is  given  to  one  most  unworthy  of  such  treasure ;  and 
it  is  maintained  through  long  years  of  suffering  and 
neglect,  without  change,  or  shadow  of  change, — or,  if 
changed  at  all,  it  is  only  in  growing  deeper,  intenser, 
and  stronger,  the  more  thickly  misfortunes  come  to 
her  desolate  hearth.     And  even  when,  according  to 

the  world's  thought,  her  love  is  worthily  bestowed 

alas !— frequently— frequently,  her  wifely  devotion  is 
met  by  indifference— an  indifference,  which,  if  it  does 
not  always  spring  from  a  heart  destitute  of  feeling, 
springs  from  one  so  engrossed  by  worldly  cares  and 
desires,  that  to  her  it  has  all  the  appearance  of  utter 
callousness, — and  yet  she  is  ever  found  acting  the  part 
of  the  Patient  Griselda,  whose  story  is  so  touchingly 
told  by  the  Gierke  of  Oxenforde.     Washington  Irvino- 
— m  one  of  the  most  charming  of  his  sketches — has 
described  most  beautifully  and  truthfully  a  woman's 
love  for  the  one  to  whom  she  has  trustingly  confided 
her   all   at    the    altar — comparing   her    to   the   vine 
twining  its  graceful  foliage  about  the  thunder-riven 
oak,  and  binding  up  its  shattered  boughs  with  caress- 
ing  tendrils;  but,    in    the   picture   painted    by   that 
masterly  artist,  although  there  was  calamity  upon  the 
head  of  the  man,  there  was  love  in  his  heart — a  love 
for  his  wife,  that  disaster  could  neither  crush  nor  hide. 
If  Ave  Avould,  however,  fully  appreciate  a  Avife's  love, 
let  us  vpw  her,  clinging,  as  she  not  unfrequently  does, 


258  UNDER   THE   MAGNOLIA. 

to  the  man,  like  ttie  vine  clasping  the  tree  rotten  to 
the  core,  and  tottering  to  its  fall,  while  she  endeavors 
to  conceal  from  prying  eyes,  by  the  leaves  and  flowers 
of  a  fond  and  watchful  assiduity,  the  unsoundness  of 
her  support ;  and,  let  us  look  at  that  love,  resting,  as, 
alas ! — it  is  often  seen  to  rest,  in  this  world,  upon  a 
heart  of  ice, — and  yet  blooming  in  beauty,  like  the 
'flowers  of  loveliest  blue'  that  'skirt  the  eternal  frosts' 
of  Alpine  solitudes.  Ah  ! — a  wife's  love — a  wife's 
love !  Its  depths  are  unfathomable, — its  beauty  in- 
describable. Words  can  never  do  justice  to  it,  though 
linked  together  like  pearls  by  the  brightest  poetic 
fancy,  and  directed  by  the  purest  human  insight  into 
the  great  human  heart."  Then  turning  to  Grace,  he 
said  fondly : 

"Close — closer  to  me  still,  my  wife, — 
My  hope,  my  joy,  my  strength,  my  life, — 
Oh  ! — in  this  world  of  evil  rife, 

Without  thee  I  should  be, 
Like  a  ship  without  a  spar, — 
Like  a  night  without  a  star, — 
And  with  leaves  and  branches  bare, 

Like  a  blasted  tree." 

Turning  now  to  Mary,  he  remarked  laughingly,  but 
at  the  same  time  somewhat  sadly:  "That  is  my  final 
farewell  to  the  profitless  trade  of  verse-making.  It  is 
right  that  a  rhymester,  in  all  the  lines  composed  by 
him,  should  S]:e.ik  truth,  if  not  poetry.  This  I  have 
always  attempted.     I  am  sure  I  have  done  so  here." 

Guy  said  no  more.    A  smile  of  satisfaction  was  upon 


UNDEK   THE   MAGNOLIA.  259 

his  uncle's  face ;  and  his  eyes  were  peacefully  closed, 
as  his  head,  with  its  thin  covering  of  shining  gray 
hair,  leaning  a  little  on  one  side,  rested  lightly  on  the 
pillow.  He  did  not  speak  ; — and  a  magnolia-bloom 
fell  from  the  tree-top,  and  fluttering  in  snowy  white- 
ness at  his  feet;  exhaled  all  around  him  its  richest 
perfume.  Guy  arose  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  old 
man's  forehead.  The  touch  told  him  that  he  stood 
in  the  presence  of  death.  The  awe-stricken  group 
gathered  the  sad  tidings  from  his  white  face  raised, 
and  his  trembling  hand  pointing,  to  heaven.  Hnbert 
Brentworth  was  indeed  dead  ;  he  must  have  breathed 
his  last,  about  the  time  Guy  ceased  speaking,  as  he 
was  noticed  with  his  eyes  tenderly  fixed  upon  Grace 
only  a  moment  before.  He  died  happy, — happy  in 
the  consciousness  of  earthly  labors  well  performed, 
and  in  the  knowledge  of  Guy's  present  joy  and  pros- 
pective usefulness.  In  life  he  had  discharged  all  of  a 
christian's  duty, — and  in  death  he  was  blessed  with 
all  of  a  christian's  hope.  With  his  pure  spirit  let  the 
reader  bid  adieu  to  Fairslope  forever. 


THE    EXD. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
960 


